


The Art of Deception

by missbecky



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blackmail, Food Porn, M/M, Mission Fic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:51:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9589568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: To prevent video of what happened at South Glade Mission Church from going viral, Eggsy lets himself be blackmailed into stealing from Harry. He should have known, though, that Harry would find out. Now they have to work together to stop the blackmailer, even as they are privately falling apart.





	1. Our Choices Seal Our Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Although this is being posted as a WIP, the fic itself is complete, with only minor editing needed.
> 
> I owe a lot of people a huge thank-you. For not giving up on me, for not giving up on this fic, for encouraging me when I honestly thought my writing days were done. Thank you and I appreciate you all so much.

Arms braced on the edge of the sink, Eggsy stares at his reflection. He's got a wonderful case of bedhead and his eyes are bloodshot from a lack of sleep. He looks haggard enough that he could legitimately be sick.

"Okay," he breathes; as he speaks, the mirror fogs up. "You can do this."

After all, it ain't like he's got much choice.

He straightens up, takes a deep breath, then jams two fingers down his throat.

The results are instantaneous and predictable. He is noisily sick in the toilet, and the tears that burn his eyes are only partially a physical reaction. He retches even after he's brought everything up, and then at last his stomach settles and he's able to breathe again. He flushes down the disgusting mess and wipes at his mouth. "Oh fuck."

Beyond the closed door, he hears footsteps. "Eggsy? Are you okay?"

He stares at the door. It's locked so Harry can't come in, but then again, Harry is a spy and this is his house. If he really wants to get in, a locked door won't stop him.

"Not really," Eggsy says. It's not a lie, either.

He turns on the tap and cups some water in his palms, then rinses his mouth. He spits a few times into the sink before he's able to rid himself of the nasty taste. He imagines Harry standing on the other side of the door, listening to all this with a frown of concern.

He's got to go back out there, but Eggsy lingers for a few moments more. He stares at his reflection one more time, noting the pallor in his cheeks, the sheen of water standing in his eyes. His stomach twists again, all on its own, and for a moment he nearly laughs out loud. Apparently he didn't have to force the issue after all -– he only has to think about what he's about to do in order to make himself sick.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Just like he thought, Harry is standing nearby, worry written all over his face. He's still in his pyjamas, the blue ones with the white stripe that Eggsy got him for Christmas. With bare feet and his hair in loose curls, he looks almost soft, virtually nothing like the spy and killer he really is.

Eggsy knows better, though.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks again.

"I don't think so," he says. "Must be comin' down with something."

Harry doesn't touch his forehead and test for fever. He believes Eggsy when he says he must be sick. He has no reason to disbelieve it, no reason to think Eggsy would lie to him.

He will soon enough, though.

His stomach in knots all over again, Eggsy slumps toward the bed. "Ya think Kingsman can survive without me for one day?"

Harry gives him a fond smile. "While I'm sure their first inclination would be to shut the place down without you, I think I can convince them otherwise."

Eggsy can't help but smile too. The pain in his stomach spreads up to his chest, wrenching at his heart, wanting to bring the tears back. He's never loved anyone like he loves Harry Hart. He always knew that it would be his undoing. He just never expected it to happen so soon.

He crawls under the covers and buries his face in his pillow. "Do you want me to stay with you?" Harry asks.

If he were really sick, he would want nothing more. But Eggsy shakes his head. "No," he says. "Don't wanna get you sick."

Harry accepts this, although not without a frown. "I'll only go to the shop," he says. "And I'll come back at lunch and check on you."

Eggsy nods. "Thanks."

Harry comes over and kisses his forehead. If he notices the coolness of Eggsy's skin -– and surely he must -- he doesn't comment. "My poor dear."

Eggsy squeezes his eyes shut.

After a moment Harry retreats to the bathroom. The shower starts to run. Eggsy breathes in deep and tries not to think about anything. Not what happened yesterday. Not what he's about to do.

Harry tends to take indulgently long showers; he certainly didn't grow up in a flat where the hot water would run out after too short a time. It's one of the reasons he's always running late in the morning, arriving at the shop well after the usual hour. It's not entirely vanity, though. Harry just insists on doing everything right, and that includes his appearance. A gentleman should always be properly dressed, but he should also make it seem effortless, as though he hasn't spent ages in front of the mirror.

Normally Eggsy doesn't care. He likes to sneak in a little extra sleep while Harry is busy being not-vain in the bathroom. Today, though, he just curls up in a miserable ball and realises with no real surprise that already the shower has stopped.

If he were really sick, he would be grateful. He would be glad for the attention, for the way Harry is so obviously concerned for him, not wanting to leave him alone out here for too long. Instead these little things, these signs of how much Harry loves him, just add to the pain in his chest and make it hard to breathe.

But at the same time they harden his resolve. Harry might be a spy and a killer, but he is also a good man who doesn't deserve half the shit the world has thrown at him. He is worth saving, worth protecting. And though what Eggsy is about to do to him is horrible, the alternative is simply unthinkable.

He has to do this.

So he lies there unmoving as Harry comes into the bedroom, his hair wet, dressing gown belted about his waist. "Do you want some water?" he asks. "Or some juice?"

"No," Eggsy croaks. He really can't stand it, how kind Harry is being.

"All right," Harry says quietly. He starts to get dressed.

Eggsy watches him, the gentleman's armor going on one layer at a time. He takes no pleasure in it, although normally he loves this kind of thing, Harry's hands deft on his buttons, the pristine white shirt settling over his broad shoulders, those long legs sliding into woollen trousers. Today he just wishes Harry would hurry up and finish, and leave him alone.

When the last button is done and his tie is perfectly knotted, Harry walks over to him. He sits on the edge of the bed and rubs Eggsy's arm through the covers. "Are you sure I can't get you anything?"

"Don't," Eggsy says. "I really don't want you to get sick, too."

"I'm willing to take my chances," Harry says with another one of those fond little smiles, the kind of smile that never fails to melt Eggsy's heart. He leans in and presses a warm kiss to Eggsy's cheek

Eggsy shuts his eyes and feels like crying.

"I'll be right back," Harry says. The bed dips as he stands up. He walks away, and then Eggsy is finally alone.

For a few precious seconds he lets himself give vent to the emotions tearing through him. He pounds his fist into his pillow, imagining it's someone's face, rage momentarily blotting out the pain of what he has to do. _Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you!_

It's not too late. He can still back out. He can try for the thousandth time to think of another option, to find a way out.

He hears footsteps on the stairs, and quickly he lies back down again, making it look like he hasn't moved. He watches Harry come in through the door, a silver serving tray in both hands. Arranged on the tray are a bottle of water, a glass of orange juice, a few paracetamol, and a tin of digestives. His phone is there, too, along with his tablet.

Harry sets the tray down on the nightstand, almost knocking over the framed picture of the two of them that rests there. He plugs Eggsy's phone into the charging station, then his tablet. "Can I get you anything else?"

 _You_ , Eggsy thinks miserably. _Just you_. If Harry doesn't leave, then he can't go through with his plan, and then he really _will_ have to come up with a different scheme. Maybe he could even tell Harry about it and together they could figure out something.

For a moment it's possible. Harry gazes down at him with love and worry, and reaches out to brush the hair back from his forehead. He seems about to speak, and Eggsy holds his breath; if Harry asks if Eggsy wants him to stay, he won't be able to stop himself from saying yes. And then everything will change.

But Harry doesn't ask. He just gives Eggsy another gentle kiss. "Let me know if you need anything. I already told Arthur I'm staying at the shop today. I can be here any time you need."

He really has to go through with it now. Eggsy swallows hard and nods. "Thanks," he whispers.

"Get some sleep," Harry says. "And stay hydrated."

"I will," Eggsy promises. What's one more lie, after all?

Harry stands up with some reluctance. "I'll drop JB off at your mum's house," he says. "You don't have to worry about him."

Fresh guilt spears through him; he hadn't even thought of the dog. "Thanks," he says again. It's all he can manage.

Harry frowns down at him a moment longer, then he turns and walks away. He starts to close the door after him.

Eggsy can't bear it. He sits halfway up, propping himself on his left elbow. "Harry?" This might be the last time he gets to say it, his last chance to be heard. "I love you, you know?"

Standing there in the doorway, Harry smiles at him "I know," he says. "And I love you, too. Now get some sleep." Slowly he closes the door.

Eggsy eases himself down onto his back. He stares up at the ceiling as Harry's footsteps recede, then go down the stairs, then become inaudible. He breathes in through the pain in his chest. He waits for the sound of the front door closing, and flinches a little when he finally hears it.

"Oh fuck," he sighs.

****

He waits twenty minutes, just to be safe. He wouldn't put it past Harry to suddenly say fuck it and come back here, determined to spend the day taking care of him. But the minutes tick by in silence, and at last Eggsy sits up and takes a deep breath.

It's time.

He hurries through a hot shower, then brushes his teeth. He doesn't wash his hair or shave, though. He's supposed to be sick; if he's not gross and stubbly by the end of the day, Harry will suspect something is up.

He gets dressed in simple clothes. Black jeans, an old T-shirt, a blue hoodie with sagging pockets. He's certainly not about to make any kind of effort today.

The office is just as neat and organized as it always is. The _Sun_ headlines hang on the wall, row upon row of them, a silent testament to how long Harry has been a Kingsman. Each one is a time when he put his life on the line, when he might have been -– and sometimes was -– in danger and injured. But each one is also a victory, proof that he triumphed against the obstacles in his way. He's known defeat, too, of course, but there are no headlines for those occasions.

There won't be one for this time, either.

Eggsy sits at the desk where once upon a time he watched Harry slaughter nearly fifty people in a church. He opens the laptop where he watched Richmond Valentine raise his pistol and fire, the image on the screen jerking backward before coming to a jarring halt, showing nothing but blue Kentucky sky.

He knows all Harry's passwords. In a matter of seconds he's logged into Harry's bank account.

The numbers on the screen don't surprise him. He's known since before he moved in here that Harry is a very wealthy man. The recession hit his investments hard, but he's come back from it and is currently doing quite well for himself. The house is paid for, he doesn't own a vehicle, and he has few expenses that Kingsman doesn't cover. There is a house somewhere in Italy, but that too is paid for, along with all the maintenance costs. All his bills are paid with automatic debits, and his salary at Kingsman is a direct deposit. He's had years to just accumulate wealth, putting it all away for the future. 

And now Eggsy is going to steal it.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the slip of paper stashed away in there. The only thing written on it is a bank account number. A few clicks of the mouse and he has the wire transfer all set up.

It's all good to go, but Eggsy hesitates. He has no choice and he knows it, but still he can't bring himself to do it. Once he hits that button, there will be no going back.

He looks around, seeing the office for what might well be the last time. His world fell apart in this room last June. He's put it back together since then, but now here he is, ready to destroy it all over again.

"I'm sorry," he says, and clicks Send.

And that's it. He's just stolen one million pounds from Harry.

****

Even for the end of January it's bitterly cold out, and Eggsy is grateful for the hoodie beneath his heavy winter coat. He walks quickly through the city streets, hands thrust in his pockets. A chill wind whips at his hair and tries to toss his coat open; he hunches his shoulders and presses on. He's got to keep moving.

Part of him expects to see Harry at any moment. He's on edge, waiting for the chime of an incoming text, the startled question: _What have you done?_ Even though he knows Harry only gets financial statements once a quarter, he can't shake the feeling that somehow Harry will know. Some sixth sense will warn him, something will make him check his bank balance. He'll see, he'll know right away it was Eggsy because there is no one else it could be.

But Harry doesn't call him or text him, and he certainly doesn't drive by. No one pays him any attention at all as he hurries past Hyde Park and turns into Kensington Gardens. Even at this time of year there are plenty of tourists and people stopping to take pictures. Eggsy doesn't bother with any of the sights, though. He's seen it all a hundred times already, and anyway today he can't let himself be distracted by any of it. Today he's here for one reason and one reason only.

The Round Pond is iced over, and most of the benches surrounding it are not occupied. Eggsy has to walk halfway around the pond before he spots his target.

Despite what happened yesterday, it's still a shock to see him alive and in person. The last time he saw Charlie Hesketh, Charlie was still twitching and shuddering from the electric shock of Eggsy's signet ring. Then he leaped over the balcony and ran for his life, and until yesterday afternoon, he had just assumed Charlie was one of the many headless corpses found in Valentine's bunker.

Charlie doesn't look up at him; he's staring down at his phone, either texting someone or pretending to, thumbs flying across the screen. His text to Eggsy came half an hour ago, and was short and to the point. _Package received. Meeting is a go._

And now here he is, alive if not well, and Eggsy has to ball his hands into fists deep in the pockets of his coat in order to keep from punching him in the face again.

Of all the people, of course it would be Charlie. Since V-Day he's learned that Kingsman tends to re-recruit their failed candidates –- well, the ones who survive, anyway. They aren't like MI6 or the CIA, spy agencies the whole world knows about. No one is going to apply to be a janitor or an IT guy for them; there will never be a job opening at Kingsman listed online.

But there are still loads of positions needing to be filled. And so they turn to the ones who know about them already, the ones who need a job, the ones who may need their egos stroked and their wallets lined in order to keep them silent and content but who are willing to come to work for them in spite of their failures. Rufus and Digby died on V-Day, but Eggsy's seen Hugo a couple times on the grounds at HQ, and he knows Nathaniel is part of that mystery team of employees who do all the background work for the agents: prepping a mission, planning the extractions, doing the clean-up after the agents have come and gone.

He doesn't really think Charlie would have fit in even if V-Day hadn't come along to send everything tits-up. Charlie is too arrogant, too full of himself –- and too full of shit. Not like it matters. They'll never know.

What matters is Charlie is alive, and that he sent Eggsy a text yesterday morning, and since then, nothing's been the same. 

Charlie holds up his phone and says, "Want to see a cool picture?" Under his coat, he's wearing the same shirt he had on yesterday. His hair has that greasy sheen that means it hasn't been washed in a few days, and his stubble is nearly a real beard. But despite his appearance, his eyes shine with the old malice, and Eggsy hates him, oh he fucking _hates_ him.

Warily he approaches the bench. He turns a little to one side, the better to see Charlie's phone.

The "picture" is actually a screenshot, carefully cropped so there are no details except the only one that matters: the number of pounds currently residing in Charlie's bank account. "Well, _I_ thought it was cool," Charlie says with a smirk. The account number isn't visible in the screenshot, but Eggsy has no doubt that this is not the same account he wired the money into. By now Charlie's definitely transferred it and closed that first account; it only existed long enough so they could do their business. 

"And look." Charlie swipes the photo to one side and reveals the next, and the next, and the next. In each one, Eggsy gets closer, walking with his hands deep in his pockets and a tight expression on his face. "Almost like a movie, isn't it?"

"Give it to me," Eggsy says.

"Aww," Charlie says with that old fake pout, the kind of thing that still makes Eggsy want to smash his face in. "You don't want to hang out?"

Eggsy bites back the words he wants to say. He hasn't got what he came for yet, and if he isn't careful, Charlie's liable to keep him on the hook for ages and make more demands of him. So he changes his tone and says, as casually as he can, "It's fucking cold out. I just want to get back home."

Charlie studies him for a moment, probably trying to figure out if he's taking the piss or if he's actually serious. He makes a quiet little huffing noise, like he's laughing to himself, then puts his phone away. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a USB drive.

Eggsy tenses up at the sight of it. His heart starts hammering in his chest. He has to remind himself that he can't lunge for it, can't pummel Charlie into the ground right here and now, grab the drive and just fucking _run._

"You can have it," Charlie says, "but don't forget our deal. If I even think someone's watching me, this shit's going to be all over the Internet. And I'm keeping the original until I know for sure I'm not being watched or followed. "

And when that will be is anyone's guess. Probably six months or more, knowing Charlie. He'll keep Eggsy waiting for it as long as he can, holding him in his grasp and laughing about it too, the fucker.

"Yeah, I get it," Eggsy says.

Charlie smirks at him and makes no move to hand over the drive. "You know, I thought about making you quit Kingsman."

Eggsy freezes. There is no doubt in his mind that Charlie could have done it, too. He holds all the power right now, and he knows it. 

"But then I figured that would be a little too suspicious," Charlie says. "It's better to keep you there. Who knows? Maybe I'll want some information down the road." He grins like he and Eggsy share a secret.

Eggsy just glares at him and clenches his fists so hard in his pockets that his wrists hurt. Maybe Charlie has forgotten that _he_ was the one who failed the test on the train tracks, but Eggsy sure hasn't. He'll never betray Kingsman. Never.

 _Might as well_ , whispers an ugly voice in his head. It sounds an awful lot like Dean. _You already betrayed Harry._

"Or more money," Charlie says. "Who knows what I'll need."

He knows he's just playing into Charlie's hands, but Eggsy can't help it, "I ain't stealing from Harry again."

Charlie scoffs. "You think I care where you get it? Just as long as _I_ get it when I need it."

Under different circumstances, Eggsy would laugh at the innuendo, childish or no. Now though, he just stands there helplessly, waiting to be set free.

At last Charlie relents and holds out the USB drive. "Here," he says. "Just remember our deal."

"Like I'm gonna forget?" Eggsy snaps. He snatches the drive out of Charlie's hand quickly, before it can be yanked away. He's good and fast too, having had lots of practice at it thanks to Dean and his shitty idea of a sense of humor.

Having got what he came for, there is no sense in sticking around. He backs up a couple steps, then turns on his heel and walks away. He knows Charlie is sneering at him, but he doesn't give a shit. He can't _let_ himself give a shit. If he does he's gonna go back there and punch Charlie in the face, and then it'll all be over. He has to think about Harry. He has to keep going.

So he does exactly that. He keeps going and he doesn't stop until he reaches the white house in Stanhope Mews, the house where he's lived with Harry since the end of summer. It's his house now, too, but today Eggsy feels like a stranger intruding somewhere he no longer has the right to be. 

He locks the door behind him and goes into the dining room. His laptop is on the table, right where he left it last night, beside yesterday's post and a coaster for his glass. He plugs in the USB drive and waits in agony for the contents to start playing.

The video flickers once on his screen, then settles down and plays smoothly. Eggsy stares, almost not recognizing it at first. He only saw it once, but the images are forever branded on his brain. They came from a different perspective, though, a viewpoint much more intimate than this one.

He's looking _down_ at the room, not straight out at it, which is what throws him off at first. It takes a second to remember he's seeing the view from the security camera that was set near the ceiling, the one Harry had glanced at before everything went to hell.

On the screen, Harry gets up and starts to walk away. After only a few paces, his stride slows and then stops altogether. He just stands there while the woman he was sitting next to yells something at him. From this angle it's possible to see the look on his face, the blankness in his eyes giving way to cold calculation just before he turns and draws his gun.

Eggsy slams the laptop closed. Oh fuck, he doesn't want to watch this. He _can't_ watch this.

It doesn't matter whether he watches it or not, though. Unseen but still there, the slaughter in the church plays out on the screen.

And it only cost him a betrayal to buy it.


	2. An Answer in a Question

Harry is just walking into the shop when the phone in his pocket vibrates with a new text. He greets Andrew, who stands behind the counter as usual, but instead of stopping to chat he keeps walking. He goes straight into the back room, where several suits are laid out in various stages of completion, then pulls out his phone.

He expects the text to be from Eggsy, although he rather hopes not. He hopes Eggsy is sleeping right now, as he ought to be.

The text is not from Eggsy. It's from his bank.

He reads the alert, the notice saying that one million pounds has just been wired from his account. It's so unexpected, so shocking, that at first Harry doesn't even know how to react. Identity theft is his first thought. It must be.

Calmly he takes a seat at the desk in the corner. Invoices are stacked neatly in a pile here, and a stapler sits beside a sleek black Kingsman pen. The computer is on, but the screen is locked, requiring a password to get in.

Harry ignores the computer. He calls his bank, which is wonderfully old-fashioned; he doesn't have to navigate an annoying automated menu before speaking to an actual human being. In a matter of minutes he learns what he needs to know. The wire transfer was made from his home computer, which is the only one authorised to make transactions on his account.

"Thank you very much," Harry says, and hangs up.

Slowly he sets the phone on the desk. Despite the warmth in the room, he feels cold all over. The world around him falls away as utterly unimportant; he registers the sound of voices in the shop, but they sound incredibly far away, coming to him from an impossible distance.

There must be a reason Eggsy has stolen from him. There must be.

Moving with a purpose now, Harry logs onto the computer. He is swift but methodical. He checks Michelle Unwin's credit report, but sees nothing there as a cause for alarm. Eggsy's report is even cleaner, with hardly any debt, just enough of it maintained to keep his score high. His friends on the other hand have abysmal credit, but even their debts aren't all that outrageous.

The Kingsman surveillance reports are just as useless. Neither Michelle nor any of Eggsy's friends are involved in anything that would require such a large sum of money. There are no gambling debts, and they are all as clean as Eggsy these days, having left the drugs and criminal activity behind.

So why then has Eggsy just stolen a million pounds from him?

The account the money was wired to has already been closed. He could call the bank again and initiate a fraud investigation, but there will be no point. He's seen enough of this kind of thing to know that official channels are rarely successful. Kingsman will have better luck, but that will mean disclosing the theft to them, and he's reluctant to do that until he's had a chance to talk to Eggsy.

Eggsy, who is supposedly sick at home. Eggsy, who apparently only waited long enough to make certain he was gone before logging into his account and stealing from him.

And yet there has to be a reason. There has to be. Any other option is unacceptable.

His first instinct is to go back home immediately. It's far too late to catch Eggsy in the act, but an unexpected return now might be just enough to catch him in a lie, some kind of confession that Harry can use to find out the whole truth.

He's not going anywhere, though, and he knows it. He sits very still and forces himself to breathe in deep. He wants to be angry -- but really all he feels is a numb disbelief. They have to talk about it. They must. If Eggsy admits to it, if he can _explain_ , there is still a chance this won't end badly.

The voices from the shop drift a little closer. Ordinary customers are browsing the stack of fabrics, discussing what they want in their suits. Harry notes their presence from long habit, but doesn't pay them any other attention.

He can't let himself think too much on this. Without any direct evidence, without any explanation, it's impossible to be clear-headed. The first rule for a spy who wants to stay alive is that you must never blindly accept what is in front of you, because anything and everything could be a lie. Verify everything, with your own senses whenever possible. Trust nothing you have not established for yourself.

So. He will go home this afternoon at his regular hour. He will see what awaits him there. Perhaps Eggsy is just waiting for him to get back so they can talk. Perhaps there is a perfectly good explanation for all of this.

Harry stares blankly at the computer, a picture of Eggsy's face on the screen. It's an official photo, the one in his Kingsman file; he's wearing a grey suit and a half-smile.

_Please have an explanation._

****

Usually there is something quite calming about working at the shop: the measuring, the sewing, the act of creation. Today, however, Harry's mind is not on tailoring. After making two near disastrous mistakes, he finally gives it up as a bad job. He makes his apologies to Andrew, informs Arthur via text message that he is leaving for the day, and retreats into the noise of the city.

What he keeps thinking is that Eggsy didn't have a fever this morning. At the time he had thought that slightly unusual, but not enough to set off any alarms in his head. But he should have known. He should have stopped to question Eggsy on the sudden onset of his sickness.

He should have known.

It's very cold and already getting dark, but Harry scarcely notices. He walks on, following a path through the city that his body knows by heart, no input from his rational mind necessary. Which is just as well, because right now his thoughts are consumed by far more important things than watching where he is going.

For five months now he and Eggsy have been together. In the beginning he had often wondered when the truth would come out. Every day they had together was a gift, and yet he had been unable to wholly accept it. Eventually Eggsy would come to his senses and realise he could be, should be, with someone his own age. Someone with youthful stamina, someone without all the scars and wrinkles. Surely Eggsy was only with him out of pity, gratitude, the misplaced need for a father substitute. 

But Eggsy's feelings for him were decidedly not that of a son, nor were they based on anything so fleeting as sympathy. And by the time December arrived with Christmas lights in the shop windows and an extra blanket on the bed, Harry had ceased wondering and waiting for something that apparently was never going to happen.

Against all logic, Eggsy loves him. And Harry, oh Harry loves him, beyond all thought or reason.

He clutches the Rainmaker and turns the corner into Stanhope Mews. His front door comes in sight, and everything inside him tightens up. He has no idea what awaits him inside, but whatever it is, it's not too late yet. If Eggsy comes clean, everything might still be all right.

He opens the door and steps inside.

There is no JB to greet him. It's warm in the house, a welcome contrast to the weather outside. Eggsy is sitting on the couch watching telly, still pretending to be sick. He's even wearing Harry's red dressing gown.

So this is how it's going to be then.

Long practice keeps Harry's expression neutral. There is no sound, nothing to give him away as his heart breaks.

It's not the money. That can be replaced. It's the theft itself. It's the breach of trust.

From the very day they met, sitting there in the Black Prince over warm pints of Guinness, Eggsy had made it past his defenses with terrifying ease. Those defenses were decades in the making, yet Harry had surrendered them with barely a struggle. Against Eggsy he is, and always has been, hopelessly vulnerable.

He sees now the magnitude of his failure. He is a spy. There can be no trust in his world. It's a lesson he first learned long ago, so new to Kingsman that he only owned two suits and had to rotate between them. For over thirty years he's abided by that simple law, but the moment Eggsy entered his life he had completely forgotten it. 

And now he's paying the price for it.

The pain of it is almost too much. Richly deserved though it might be, he's not sure if he can bear it. In one swift stroke he's lost not only Eggsy, but any hope of a future for them. 

To Eggsy, though, he reveals none of this. He just smiles a little, sympathetic and patient. "How are you feeling? Any better?"

"Little bit," Eggsy says. "Had some soup earlier and it stayed put."

"That's a good sign," Harry says. He walks over to where Eggsy is curled up on the couch. It doesn't escape his notice that Eggsy tenses up a little as he approaches, and the realisation makes his heart break a little more.

He braces himself with one hand on the back of couch, leans down and kisses Eggsy's cheek. "Did you sleep?"

"Yeah," Eggsy says. His stubbled cheek is rough beneath Harry's lips. He is a little pale, but not overly so, and Harry is suddenly furious with him.

 _How could you? I trusted you! I_ love _you!_

But there's plenty of anger to go around, isn't there? He should have known. He's supposed to be better than this, smarter than this. He isn't supposed to be tricked like this.

There _must_ be a reason for it, he pleads with himself. Eggsy might have been a thief in the past, but he is not that person anymore. If he's stealing now, there has to be a good reason. There simply has to be.

Or perhaps he just wants to believe so. He's seen too much of the world's cruelty; he knows perfectly well that there doesn't have to be any excuse at all. Sometimes things just are what they are. He's grasping desperately at straws, letting love blind him to the stark truth that life is ugly and unfair and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool.

Whatever is really happening here, though, he must not let Eggsy know that he knows. So he puts on another smile and he says, "If you need me, I can stay with you tomorrow."

Eggsy looks briefly alarmed at this. "Nah," he says. "I think I'm over the worst of it. Should be fine tomorrow."

He could press the issue, but he's already seen what he needs to see. "All right," he says. "You be the judge."

****

That night he lies awake for hours. He's pathetically grateful for the excuse of Eggsy of being sick; it lets him keep his distance in bed. He's a good actor -- he has to be, in his line of work -- but having to playact like nothing was wrong while they lay together would be too much even for him.

Eggsy sleeps curled up on the far side of the bed, his back to Harry. When they went to bed, he apologised again for being sick, and Harry told him to think nothing of it, it certainly wasn't his fault. He kissed Eggsy on the forehead and then rolled over to his side of the bed.

He doesn't know if Eggsy can see through him. He could almost hope that Eggsy knew the truth, except that if he wants to get to the bottom of this, he has to sustain the deception. If Eggsy knows the game is up, he'll stop playing. And that is something Harry can't allow him to do. 

Not just yet.

****

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, yeah," Eggsy says. He throws back the covers and climbs out of bed.

"Are you sure?" Harry asks, as though he doesn't know for a fact that Eggsy jammed two fingers down his throat yesterday in order to make himself sick. "I can bring you tea and toast if you like."

"Ah, come on," Eggsy says. His tone is light enough, but he can't look Harry in the eye as he speaks. "It ain't like I was on death's door. Must've just been the 24-hour bug or somethin'."

"Fair enough," Harry says. He starts to make the bed. "Well, whatever it was, I'm glad you're better."

"Me too," Eggsy says. He hesitates, then goes into the bathroom.

Harry waits for the sound of the shower before he picks up his phone. _I need you to keep Gawain occupied at HQ today._

Such a cryptic comment deserves an explanation, one he has no intention of providing. He knows he's pushing it, even with Merlin. But they've been friends for nearly thirty years. Harry figures that entitles him to be a little bit demanding.

The response is quick in coming. _Why?_

 _Something I need to do_ , he replies. _Alone._

This time there is a bit of a pause before the reply. _He's due for a day with Fletcher. I'll arrange it._

 _Thank you_ , Harry writes back. Then he deletes the texts and puts the phone down.

So that's one thing out of the way. While Eggsy is in training with Fletcher, driving down quiet roads and learning the secrets of the Kingsman vehicles, Harry will take the bullet train to Savile Row and come back here. If what he suspects is correct, he won't need more than a couple of hours; he will be at HQ again even before Eggsy returns.

He moves over to Eggsy's side of the bed, where his phone is still plugged into the charging port. He glances up briefly, listening for any change in the sound of the shower, but there is no cause for alarm.

Eggsy's last few texts are all there. The one from himself yesterday afternoon, playing the dutiful worried partner and asking if he was okay. One from Roxy, some inane conversation about _Game of Thrones_. One from Michelle Unwin, asking when he was coming to dinner next. (Eggsy's response: _Dunno, maybe Friday?_ )

There are no mysterious texts, nothing that seems out of place. 

Undeterred, Harry checks the photos next. And there he finally finds what he was looking for. A screenshot preserving a text that no longer exists. 

_Package received. Meeting is a go._

He memorizes the number of the unknown person's phone. More than likely the phone was a throwaway, but he'll look into it anyway. He could get lucky.

He closes the app, then carefully puts the phone down in the exact spot it was before. He feels oddly shaky all over. He still can't bring himself to believe that Eggsy would steal from him without any reason for it. He knows he's clinging to that slim hope out of sheer stubbornness, but he can't help it. Anything is better than thinking Eggsy has betrayed him.

But at least now he knows one solid fact. Eggsy _did_ meet with someone. The money wasn't for himself or his family. And there's only one other reason that much money could have been so necessary that Eggsy needed to steal it.

Harry just needs to find whatever it was he bought.

****

When Eggsy had officially moved in, it hadn't taken him long to unpack. By then most of his things were already here in Harry's house, now the house that belonged to both of them. The last box he had carried up the stairs was small and rather light, and it hadn't held much. One of the few things packed inside it had been an old watch. It's status, relegated to the last box, had been rather mystifying. But Harry hadn't truly understood until Eggsy explained why it was packed away instead of being worn. The watch, he said, was the Christmas gift his mother never got to give Lee Unwin that fateful December.

He had showed it to Harry that night, his eyes soft with memory. "My mum gave it to me when I turned ten. Said she wanted me to have it. I had to hide it from Dean, though. He probably woulda tried hocking it."

Harry had murmured something, he doesn't even remember what, while having to fight off the old guilt over his role in Lee's death, along with the newer urge to let his anger at Dean Baker show.

Eggsy had shrugged, the watch held carefully in one hand. "Kept it in my shoe. He'd go through my stuff sometimes, looking for money or pot, I guess. I dunno. But he never found this."

That's what Harry remembers as he slowly climbs the stairs, having returned home exactly as he had planned this morning. He got nowhere with the phone number he pulled from Eggsy's cell, which is nothing more than he expected. His only lead now is to find whatever Eggsy bought with his money. If there is any physical evidence of the motive behind Eggsy's theft, this is where he will find it. The question to be answered now is what he's done with it.

There are plenty of hiding places in this house, of course, some of which Eggsy probably doesn't even know exist. Harry disregards them all now and starts where he always starts: with the most likely. 

Their bedroom is perfectly in order, only the closet door slightly open as proof of the flurry of activity that happened here this morning, as it does every morning while they move around each other getting dressed. Harry studies the door for a moment, memorising its angle and location, then pulls it open all the way.

He means to go through Eggsy's shoes methodically, one pair after another, but that turns out to be unnecessary. His prize is in the first pair he checks, those hideous winged trainers that he can't help regarding fondly anyway, simply because Eggsy wore them on the first night he ever spent here.

Harry pulls out the USB drive and stares at it for a long moment. He feels cold all over, almost sick with dread at the idea of watching the contents of the drive. Whatever is on here, it was worth one million pounds to Eggsy. More than that -- after all, can one put a price tag on betrayal?

The anger cuts through the daze of his shock. His hand closes over the flash drive. For this, then, he has been betrayed.

He puts the trainers back where he found them, returns the closet door to its original location, then stands up and backs away. He walks slowly into his office. A small voice inside his head says he shouldn't look, he should put it back and just ask Eggsy what it is and give him a chance to explain. 

He shuts the voice out. Fuck that. He's too hurt and angry for logic. He _will_ watch this. He _will_ have his answers.

No matter the cost. 

He plugs the drive into his laptop and sits back. Waiting. Hoping that what he's about to see won't drive him from Eggsy forever.

After a brief blip, the video begins. Harry recognises it right away, and his heart starts to race. Panic locks his limbs in a vise grip; although every fiber of his being shrills at him to turn it off and stop watching, he is powerless to move.

His memories of what happened in the church are fragmented, like an old film strip spliced together too many times, leaving it incomplete, entire frames missing. It's to be expected, he's been told. Between the "neurological wave" itself and the trauma from being shot in the head, it's a wonder he remembers anything of that day at all.

And now here it is. Not his view from the Kingsman glasses, but a recording clearly made from the security camera set high on the wall near the ceiling. The camera he remembers looking at once, knowing perfectly well that Valentine was watching.

Onscreen, he stands up and begins walking toward the door. He remembers -- vaguely -- a sense of disgust, and feeling the need for a very long hot shower to wash away the nasty taint of the church and its hateful congregation. And then…

On the video, it's plain to see when Valentine's wave hits him. His expression is wiped out, utterly blank as his mind is taken over. He reaches for his gun and there is nothing in his eyes, nothing but a cold, implacable hatred.

Safe at home, months later, Harry watches in a numb, horrified trance as the massacre in the South Glade Mission Church plays out on the screen.

He remembers feeling no surprise to discover that so many of those people had come armed to church, only a righteous satisfaction at having so many weapons at his disposal. He remembers the shock of being stabbed, but feeling no pain. He remembers when the grenade went off, throwing him to the floor and deafening him just briefly enough that the signal faded and he almost, _almost_ , regained his senses before the red tide of slaughter washed over him again.

The combatants in the background fall, their numbers dwindling. At last there is only himself and the pastor so full of hate. And then there is the last kill, the final body falling at his feet, and he stands alone amid the carnage.

He remembers looking around, vaguely disappointed that there was no one left to kill. Then the buzz in his head finally wound down and he looked around, truly seeing what had happened. What he had done.

It's all there in his face, the camera merciless above, recording it all. The dawning shock and horror. The realization that it isn't actually over, that there is one more person to be killed.

Onscreen, he walks out of frame. The view lingers, still and silent, on the fallen, twisted bodies. Pools of blood slowly grow larger. Harry watches, not breathing, waiting for the view to shift to the camera in the parking lot. He waits to watch himself get shot, even though he knows that isn't going to happen; in the tiny corner of his mind still capable of rational thought, he knows that such a thing would only elicit sympathy for himself, which is clearly not the point of this video.

And in fact the video ends right there, on that image of the dead bodies. The screen goes black and it's finally over.

Harry closes the laptop and starts counting. He pushes away from the table, stands up and slowly walks toward the loo.

He makes it to eighteen before he's noisily, nastily sick. Involuntary tears burn his eyes, and his hand trembles as he flushes the mess away. He washes his hands and face, then backs out of the bathroom. The back of his hand is pressed to his mouth and he's shaking all over.

He doesn't feel connected to his body anymore; he could still be watching himself from above.

A couple times in his life he has been very sick, burning with a high fever. He has the same sensation now, the world gone hazy and unreal around him, the inside of his head a carnival house of horrors. If he could find the way out, he would leap through it without hesitation.

But there's nowhere to go.


	3. A Revelation, Some Kind of Resolution

Riding around with Fletcher is pretty cool, Eggsy has to admit. He had no clue the Kingsman cabs could turn into fucking submarines of all things. The best part of the day though, is when he gets to show off his own pretty sick driving skills, and he sees the respect in the older man's eyes. It takes a lot to impress Fletcher, who's been in charge of Kingsman's incredibly diverse fleet of vehicles for nearly thirty years.

"I've never seen anything quite like what you did with that Impreza," Fletcher says. "Mind, if you crash one of my cars like that, I'll personally kick your arse."

Eggsy bites his lip to keep from grinning; even though he's just a little bit biased, he still thinks he pulled off some pretty fucking amazing driving that night with Rottweiler's car. "Understood."

He's in a good mood as he boards the bullet train to Savile Row. It's been a good day, actually, enough for him to have temporarily forgotten about the guilt and gloom that have haunted him since he got that first text message from Charlie. But now that he's alone with his thoughts, it all comes back, and with nothing to do but sit here and brood for the next hour, his spirits start to sink once again.

The ride back to London always seems longer when he makes it alone -- apparently Harry left HQ earlier today. Eggsy got a text from him a couple hours ago, letting him know that he needed to look into something for Arthur and that he was going straight home afterward. He pulls out his phone now and chews the inside of his cheek. He's got to act like nothing has changed, like he has nothing to hide.

 _Want me to pick up dinner?_ he texts. As soon as he hits Send, though, he winces. He's supposed to be recovering from a stomach bug; eating should be the last thing he wants.

Well, too late now. It's already out there.

It isn't long before the response comes. _No need, but thank you._ Harry must have already picked something up. Or possibly he's cooking, something not too spicy, something a person can eat when they're just getting over being sick. Because Harry dotes on him at all times, but especially when he thinks Eggsy doesn't feel well.

Eggsy groans and tips his head back against the seat. He's an absolute shithead for what he's done. And for what he's about to do.

He's been thinking about it a lot. He's got to replace the money he took from Harry's account, and he has to do it fast, before Harry accidentally finds out. And unfortunately that doesn't leave him with a whole lot of options.

First and most enticing is stealing from Dean. Of course Dean don't got anywhere near a million pounds lying around, but he's got money, all right. And he deserves to have it stolen, the bastard.

Second is stealing from his target on his next mission, but that's a big crapshoot. He has no guarantee that he'll be dealing with anyone who could afford to take such a loss. In fact, he has no missions lined up right now at all.

Third and most risky, is stealing from Kingsman itself. There are funds set up in an account that's available to all agents for their use on a mission. It's called the Kidney Fund, jokingly given that name way back when, supposedly because that's what they could buy with the money. The agents are supposed to turn in receipts and account for everything they spend, but sometimes that's just not possible; according to Merlin, the fund gives Accounting continual nightmares. Sooner or later someone will notice if he takes such a huge sum from it, but maybe not right away. Hopefully he'd have enough time to replace it before anyone found out.

It's kind of a shitty plan. He knows that. But it's all he's got. It's gonna take him forever to pay it all back, but he's just gonna have to find a way to do it.

And hope like hell Charlie doesn't make him steal anything more.

Eggsy sighs. He's gotta remember to keep it low-key tonight, like someone who was sick yesterday. In a weird way it's like being undercover, always remembering to play his assigned role, because getting caught is just not an option.

The thought sickens him. He's not supposed to think of Harry like he's a mark in a mission, someone he's meant to lie to and deceive. But that's exactly what has to happen. It's the only way out of this mess.

There's a customer in the shop when Eggsy arrives; the man gives him a startled look when he emerges from behind fitting room one. Eggsy murmurs a polite greeting, then walks straight out into the winter afternoon.

On the way here he called for a car; it's waiting for him now at the kerb. The ride to Stanhope Mews seems to take no time at all, and all too soon he's stepping out of the cab. He pauses to thank his driver, then takes a deep breath.

Fuck it. He can do this.

The house is pleasantly warm after the January chill. There is no JB to bark at him, which means Harry hasn't picked him up from his mum's house. Eggsy can't decide if that's a good thing or not.

He takes off his coat and hangs it up, then heads for the living room. Harry is sitting in the armchair, a glass of whisky close at hand. He's still in his suit, grey pinstripe and polka-dotted tie. Not a button has been undone; his tie is still tightly knotted at his throat. He looks cold and forbidding, like the kind of man who could kill with his bare hands without batting an eye.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asks. His tone is neutral; he might as well be making a comment on the weather for the lack of concern in his voice. 

Alert but not worried, not yet, Eggsy says, "Good, yeah." He walks into the living room, but hesitates before the couch. Harry's text had made it sound like he had dinner for them, but there are no smells coming from the kitchen, and a quick glance into the dining room reveals that the table is not set.

"Sit down," Harry says.

It's not a request.

The bottom falls out of Eggsy's stomach. He can see now that Harry is holding something in his left hand, fingers curled about the object nestled in his palm. And Eggsy knows right away what it is. Oh fuck he knows.

"Harry," he says. And then he stops.

 _"Sit. Down._ " There is nothing in Harry's eyes. No warmth, no sympathy. It's the expression of a man who is about to do a terrible thing, but only because he has first hardened his heart.

Eggsy sinks onto the couch opposite Harry. His heart thuds in his chest. Even now he's reasonably confident that Harry won't hurt him -- but the thought of it is there anyway. That's Dean's legacy to him, something he'll never be rid of. 

He doesn't waste time wondering how or when Harry found out about the theft of all that money, or how he found the USB drive. He _does_ hope that Harry didn't look at the video, but he knows that's impossible. Of course Harry watched it.

God only knows what he thought when he watched it. What he's thinking now.

Harry turns his hand over and reveals the object sitting there. It's the USB drive, all right. The one he had taken such pains to hide. The one thing he would have given anything to keep away from Harry.

"Where did you get this? Is this why you stole a million pounds from me? So you could buy _this?_ " Harry asks.

So he knows everything then. Or he thinks he does. Eggsy stares at him, caught helplessly by the violence lurking behind Harry's eyes. He has one shot at this, and one shot only. Fuck it up and they're finished forever.

He leans in a little, hoping Harry will see how sincere he is. "Harry, I'm so sorry."

"I don't want your fucking apologies," Harry says, and his voice is cold, so cold. "I want _answers_." 

He doesn't even know where to begin. How the fuck is he supposed to explain this? What can he possibly say that will make this all right?

Whenever he got in trouble with Dean, he had to make his explanations quick, had to worry more about defending himself than being strictly truthful. But with Harry, that strategy will only make things worse. Harry isn't looking for him to get all defensive. What Harry wants -- what he _deserves_ \-- is the honest truth.

So Eggsy starts from the beginning. "Do you remember Charlie, Arthur's candidate for Lancelot?"

This is apparently more truth than Harry was anticipating. He blinks in surprise, momentarily appearing less angry. "I did not meet any of the other candidates, as you well know." Of course he hadn't. Eggsy and the others hadn't been introduced to any of the active agents at the time, and had only minimal interaction with the staff of the large mansion. Most of their time had been spent with Merlin and other trainers and instructors.

And then Harry had gone and blown himself up and landed in the coma. Even if he had wanted to meet the candidates, there simply hadn't been the opportunity.

But he knows of them anyway. He had revealed that much when he congratulated Eggsy for making it to the final six. Freshly woken from a coma and he had still taken the time to learn where Eggsy stood in the ranks. Not only that, but learn the name of Eggsy's dog, the most inconsequential thing in the history of the world. But he had done it, because even then he had been in love with Eggsy -- something Eggsy still can hardly believe most days.

"Charlie died in Valentine's bunker," Harry says now, his voice tight. "You made sure of that." It isn't an accusation; he states it as a simple fact. He's seen the video footage of what happened there, although he has never talked about it with Eggsy beyond reassuring him that he did everything he could have done that day, that he was truly a Kingsman agent.

"Yeah," Eggsy says slowly. "Apparently not."

Harry frowns, but says nothing.

Encouraged by his silence, Eggsy goes on. "He texted me on Tuesday. Told me he had that." He nods at the USB drive. In response, Harry clenches it in his fist again, hiding it from view.

His voice sounds high even to his own ears, shrill with the desperate need to be believed. "He said he'd put it on the Internet for everyone to see if I didn't pay him."

He's helpless not to remember his disbelief and fury at getting those texts. He hadn't really believed it was actually Charlie at first, demanding to know who he was really talking to. It wasn't until Charlie replied with a comment about his lesbian mum that he had realized the truth. Only Charlie had been there with him that night on the training course. Only Charlie would know that.

Only Charlie would do this to him.

"I had to do it," he says. "I had to get it from him." He looks into Harry's eyes, searching for any sign that he's getting through, any hint that Harry doesn't completely hate him. "I couldn't let him do that to you."

Harry flinches a little, his hand tightening still further on the drive. Now that he's not so murderously angry, Eggsy can see the truth. Behind the gentlemanly façade, that perfectly tailored suit and coiffed hair, he's barely keeping it together.

His heart in his throat, Eggsy sinks back against the couch. He's fully aware that he's dangerously close to doing something stupid like crying, but he can't help it. "I was gonna tell you, I swear." Except he knows that's not true. He really thought he could replace the money before Harry found out. He really thought Harry would never know. It would have remained his secret, his and Charlie's, something he would take with him to the grave.

Harry pulls his hand in a little, fingers still tightly closed over the USB drive. "You should have come to me immediately," he says. His voice is still cold, but it seems like most of the ice in his eyes has melted. Or maybe Eggsy just wants to believe that's the case. "You should have told me about the threat Charlie poses not only to you, but to all of Kingsman. And you should never have stolen from me." He hesitates, then says, "I would have given you the money, if you had only asked."

Unable to bear it, Eggsy looks away. He doesn't know what to say. It never occurred to him to ask Harry for the money. Growing up, there was nobody to help out when he got in trouble. He's too used to going it alone. It wasn't ever easy, but he had always managed on his own before. Giving in and calling the number on his dad's medal that night in Holborn Station had truly been an act of desperation.

He forgets that he isn't really alone anymore. He's got Harry and Roxy and Merlin now, and all of Kingsman at his back. But all that's still too new, something he's still adjusting to. It's way too easy to fall back into his old habits, to go it alone, to try and do it all himself. 

He really is a fucking idiot.

"Is that it then?" Harry asks. "You gave him the money, he gave you the video. Is it over?"

He thinks about Charlie sitting there on the bench, taunting him. "No," he's forced to admit. He has to whisper it, he's so angry and ashamed. "That's just a copy."

Harry breathes in, a shaky sound Eggsy can hear all the way across the room. He hates Charlie with all the force of his soul then. For putting him in this impossible position, for threatening Harry like this, for ruining everything.

"He said he'll give me the original," he says. He makes himself look up. "He's worried about being followed or something. He said when he's sure we're not watching him, he'll give it to me."

"And do you really think that's going to happen?" Harry asks.

He's pinned everything on that hope, but as he sits there, Eggsy is forced to acknowledge that it seems unlikely as hell. Charlie has power over him now, and he's not about to give that up, not so quickly. With the threat of the video being released, Charlie could string him along forever. Asking for more money, making him leave Kingsman, doing Charlie's dirty work for him. The possibilities are sickening -- and endless.

"Fuck," he groans. Because he would have done it, whatever Charlie wanted. Anything to keep Harry safe, to protect him.

"He's played you for a fool," Harry says. He shakes his head. "And you've let him."

"I had to!" Eggsy bursts out. He sits up straight again, imploring Harry to believe him. "I couldn't let him put that video out there. I couldn't let him do that to you." Tears burn the back of his throat and he blinks rapidly, refusing to give in to them. "I fucking love you, Harry. And I'm sorry for what I did, and I'm so fucking sorry you saw it. I never wanted that, I never wanted you to see it, you have to believe me."

Something crumbles in Harry's eyes. He doesn't look like a killer then. He looks old and sad and almost frightened. "Eggsy."

"And I know I fucked up," Eggsy rushes to say. "I know I did. But I'd do it again, 'cause I ain't gonna let him hurt you. You get me? I'd do it again."

Harry closes his eyes. The last of his anger deserts him then. His broad shoulders slump and his mouth tightens; he looks like he's in pain.

Eggsy chews on his lower lip and tries to remain silent. He reminds himself that Harry hasn't thrown him out yet. There's still a chance for them.

Harry opens his eyes. His voice is steady as he says, "All right. I understand."

Eggsy isn't so sure about that, but he doesn't know what to say. Harry's going to need time to process all this, and it would be the worst thing in the world to pressure him right now. All that'll get him is a one-way ticket out the door.

And since he would do anything to avoid that fate, Eggsy accepts Harry's answer as the truth.

"So what do we do now?" he asks miserably. 

"What you should have done from the start," Harry says. He glances at the drive still clenched in his fist. "Charlie Hesketh is a threat to you, to Kingsman, and to our security."

Eggsy nods. He has no idea where this is going, but he's feverishly keen to keep the conversation afloat. Anything to keep Harry from deciding that he hates Eggsy, that he wants him out of his life for good.

"There are protocols in place for dealing with such a threat," Harry says. 

Of course there are. He nods again. "Yeah."

"We find him, and we finish this," Harry says.

The words fall heavily into the space between them, the no-man's land of the living room where just last week they sat together so happily. Eggsy feels a little sick to his stomach. "You mean we're gonna fucking kill him."

Harry gazes at him, utterly unrepentant. "Can you do that?" he asks.

After everything Charlie's done to him, he doesn't have to think too hard about it. "Yeah," he says. "But I kinda wish we didn't have to." He grimaces. "I mean, we did kill his whole family." 

Harry doesn't appear moved by this argument. "He made his choices. He has no one but himself to blame for the consequences. Not you, not Merlin, not Kingsman. But you know him better than I. If you think there is a chance to finish this peacefully, I will believe you."

This time Eggsy really does think on it. Can they end this without bloodshed? Is there anything he can say or do that will forever render Charlie an empty threat?

"The thing is," he says, "he's got nothing to lose."

Harry's neutral expression doesn't really change, but Eggsy gets the distinct sense that he's suddenly relieved. "Do you really think so? In my experience, everyone has something they're afraid to lose."

Eggsy shrugs. Despite Charlie's initial demand, he knows it's not really about money. Power, maybe? The chance to fuck over someone he hates?

And then he gets it. 

"He kept sayin' stuff about how he better not think Kingsman was watching him." As soon as he says it out loud, he knows he's right. "His freedom. That's what he's afraid to lose. He thinks we'll come after him."

Harry nods, and now he does smile, ever so faintly. "Exactly."

"So that's it," Eggsy says. Relief wells up in him. They won't have to kill Charlie after all. They just need to convince him that threatening Eggsy or Kingsman again would be very detrimental to his continued independence.

"I don't imagine a man like Charlie would do well at all in prison," Harry says mildly.

Eggsy can't help grinning. It's more a gesture of dizzy relief than any real amusement, but it feels good on his face anyway. For the first time he really feels like everything's gonna be okay. Harry doesn't hate him. They're working together on this, aiming for a shared goal.

"Just gotta tell _him_ that," he says. 

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Harry says.

His use of the word "we" is enough to make Eggsy sag back against the couch, practically weak with relief and gratitude. Hope floods through him. If they're together on this, they can be together in every other way that matters. Maybe he hasn't completely ruined everything.

But there are still some things that need to be dealt with.

"Do we have to tell Arthur?"

"I think we must," Harry says. "He's a danger not only to you and me, but the entire agency."

Eggsy winces. "Yeah, I know." He trails off. He hates the idea of Arthur and Merlin knowing that he gave in to blackmail and stole a million pounds from Harry. It's one thing to admit to Harry why he did it. To anyone else though, it's just humiliating and makes him look like the worst kind of thief.

"We will be very discreet," Harry promises.

He has to accept that, so he just nods. He takes a deep breath. "What are they gonna do to me?" He deserves whatever punishment they want to hand him. He just hopes they don't decide to kick him out. He's not sure what he would do then.

Harry looks at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know," Eggsy says. "Cause I stole from you and all." He doesn't dare say how close he was to stealing from Kingsman itself. That's one thing he'll never tell anyone.

"Arthur has no say in this," Harry says sharply. "This is a matter between you and I. Kingsman does not come into it. As far as they are concerned, the money was given with both our consent in an effort to see what Charlie would do and find out what his intentions were."

Eggsy forgets how to breathe just then. Despite his terrible betrayal, Harry is going to keep his secret. It's almost too much. He doesn't deserve such leniency, and certainly not this level of trust. Not after what he's done.

"I really am sorry," he says. The lump in his throat is back; it's suddenly hard to get the words out. Tears blur his vision, burning his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"I know that," Harry says quietly. 

Eggsy squeezes his eyes shut, sending the tears streaking down his face. Maybe Kingsman won't kick him out, but Harry still might. And Eggsy wouldn't blame him for it. Not one bit.

He makes himself open his eyes. "So what are _you_ gonna do to me?" he chokes out.

Harry just gazes at him for a long moment. Long enough for Eggsy's heart to break, for him to already be mentally packed up and moved out of the house, out of Harry's life for good.

He can't help flinching a little when Harry stands up, smoothly unfolding himself from his chair and walking over to where Eggsy sits stupidly crying. He doesn't move, though. Whatever Harry's decided to do to him, he'll accept it meekly. It's the least he can do.

Harry sits beside him on the couch. He raises a hand and Eggsy winces his eyes closed again, breathless in anticipation.

But Harry doesn't hit him. One arm slides about his shoulders, and then he's being pulled into a firm embrace.

His heart pounding, still barely breathing, Eggsy flings both arms around him. "I'm sorry," he cries.

Harry holds him, one hand soothing up and down his back. "It's all right," he says quietly. The rigid tension that's gripped him all night finally loosens, and he relaxes against Eggsy. Warmth creeps into his body, turning him from a man of ice and stone back into the man Eggsy loves so much. "We'll be all right."

Ashamed of his behaviour, Eggsy makes himself stop crying and sits up. Harry lets go of him but doesn't move away; he sets two fingers beneath Eggsy's chin and lifts his face up.

"No one has ever tried to defend me the way you just did," Harry says quietly. His eyes search Eggsy's face, and for a brief moment the practiced mask of years falls away, revealing the depth of his feeling. "Thank you." He tilts his head down and kisses Eggsy. 

Eggsy is taken by surprise -- but only for a second. He kisses Harry back and sets both hands on his shoulders, pulling him down practically on top of him. 

After so many miserable hours spent thinking Harry would hate him for what did, the kiss is more than he could have dreamed. But it's not enough. It's nowhere near enough. He wants Harry with a need formed of love and gratitude and the fierce desire to keep him safe that got him into this mess to begin with. It all tangles together in his blood, pure lust sweeping through him.

 _You're mine_ , he thinks. In spite of everything. All his faults, all Harry's flaws, all their fuckups. He loves Harry and somehow Harry still loves him back. And just then what he wants aren't words of love. There don't need to be any words at all. 

He fumbles at Harry's suit coat, trying to slide his hands beneath the tailored closeness. His reaching fingers brush the smooth leather of Harry's shoulder holster and the weight of the Kingsman pistol, and a shiver works through him.

Harry hasn't once stopped kissing him. He presses Eggsy into the cushions, and Eggsy pulls at him, taking Harry with him. Harry's hands slide down his arms and back again, graze his neck, grasp his hips. Each touch goes right to Eggsy's cock and has him gasping for more. 

He manages to grab a fistful of white dress shirt, and he yanks at it until he's able to get a hand on Harry's bare back. Harry hisses and arches against him. Eggsy digs in with his fingertips and pushes up to meet him.

He's on fire, his lips swollen, his cock aching. He needs Harry's hands on him, needs to feel more skin beneath his fingers.

It's not enough, damnit. He whines into Harry's mouth and squirms beneath him, trying to press their bodies closer while scrabbling to push Harry's shirt up higher.

In answer Harry wraps both arms around him and twists, and Eggsy suddenly finds himself swung around. Now Harry is the one with his back to the cushions, and Eggsy is on his knees straddling him. It's a precarious balance -- it wouldn't take much for him to just fall backwards off the couch and onto the floor. But Harry's hands are firm at his waist, and Eggsy leans in with both hands on Harry's shoulders, and he knows he won't fall. 

This is a little better, and he scoots in closer still, knees spread wide on either side of Harry's thighs. He's both gratified and excited by the sight of Harry's arousal, and his cock strains against his trousers.

He has the advantage of height now, and he uses it shamelessly, forcing Harry's head back as they kiss. It's all sloppy teeth and tongues, his chin slick with wet, and he still can't get enough.

Harry reaches for the buttons on his trousers. Eggsy tugs Harry's head back with a firm hand in his hair and bites at his lip. _You're mine. Mine._

The first touch of Harry's hand on his cock makes him yelp. He shoves his hips forward, panting and mouthing a string of curses up Harry's cheek. He's burning up beneath too many clothes, too many useless regrets, too many hours spent thinking he would never have this again.

The drag of Harry's hand across his cock is almost painful. His touch is sure and possessive, the way he's always touched Eggsy, right from the start. Sometimes he's almost shockingly gentle as his hands move over Eggsy's body, but not tonight. This is about claiming him, demanding a surrender Eggsy is only too happy to give.

Still cursing, kissing and nipping at Harry's mouth, he pulls at the tie knotted at Harry's throat. It remains stubborn, and he jerks hard. The movement sways their bodies closer together and causes Harry to growl low in warning. Eggsy yanks on it again as Harry wraps his fingers around his cock and _pulls_. The silk knot loosens and Eggsy shouts out loud, his hips bucking forward.

For a moment he trembles on the edge of release. It could be embarrassing, how quickly he's ready to go, but he doesn't care. For three days he's feared Harry would hate him forever, that he had ruined what they have together. Now giddy relief and love and lust have brought him swiftly to the edge, and there's simply no fucking time to be embarassed. All Eggsy knows is he _wants._

With an effort he finds a last vestige of self-control. He stares down at Harry as he slowly slides the striped tie off his collar. Harry's eyes are dark and heavy, his mouth red and swollen. A flush colors his cheeks and his hair is in disarray. He looks expectantly up at Eggsy, fingers still encircling Eggsy's cock but not moving.

They could make a game of it, see who moves first. But Eggsy knows he'll lose. And he doesn't care. He wants to lose.

"Need you," he says. "Now." He undoes the top two buttons of Harry's shirt, and Harry strokes him again, agonizingly slow.

" _Now_ ," Eggsy demands.

Harry stands up so swiftly the only warning Eggsy gets is the sudden gathering of Harry's muscles beneath him. Then he's rising, barely getting his feet on the floor before Harry is kissing him again. His trousers drop to a puddle about his ankles, limiting his steps as Harry's hands on his body guide him into position. He's turned around and a warm hand on the back of his neck bends him over the arm of the couch.

"Don't move," Harry orders.

Eggsy shivers in delight, the air cool on his bare arse, cock trapped between his stomach and the leather of the sofa. He ruts a little, helpless not to, and Harry squeezes his neck. "Eggsy."

"You better fucking hurry then," he says.

He straightens up a little but stays where he is as Harry walks away. He's leaning forward, both arms braced, hands on the cushion where they were just sitting; he can feel the warmth they left behind.

Harry is back quickly enough. Eggsy glances up and his cock throbs at the realization that Harry intends to fuck him while he's still completely dressed. Except for those two undone buttons at his throat, of course.

He bumps his arse backward and Harry takes the hint. Two slim fingers, slick with lube, slide into him. Eggsy yells out and nearly comes right then and there.

"Oh darling, look at you," Harry says. He pushes his fingers in deep, and Eggsy balls his hands into fists on the rich leather of the couch and trembles.

 _Mine_ , Eggsy thinks as Harry's other hand settles on his back. He pushes backward, groaning against the burn as Harry fucks him with his fingers. The muscles in his arms and legs start to quiver, making him wonder how long he'll be expected to hold this position. He could collapse now and be held upright by nothing more than Harry's fingers in his arse.

The thought of it hits him just as Harry strokes along that place deep inside him. Sparks fly along his nerves, and his entire body jolts. "Oh fuck!"

He comes so hard the world blurs around him, hips juddering against the leather. He scarcely notices when Harry pulls his fingers out and sinks in.

It takes a while to realize the motion of his body isn't entirely his own. He braces himself for each thrust, reveling in the sounds they make, the way he's filled so completely with Harry's cock. Each thrust hits that spot inside him, almost too much to take so soon. He gasps and arches his back and Harry holds his hips tight enough to leave bruises.

He can't do anything but stand there and take it, and that's exactly what Eggsy does. Pride and love and lust shiver all through him, thrilling him at the way Harry's breath quickens as he nears release.

And when Harry comes, momentarily resting all his weight atop him, Eggsy holds them both up.


	4. A Matter of Trust

Harry is awake well before the sun is.

He didn't sleep much. He had known he would not. In the too-short time when he did sleep, it was there in his dreams. The church. The raging desire to kill everyone around him by any means necessary. The helpless knowledge that he was walking outside to meet his death.

For the last hour or so he's merely been waiting out the clock. Beside him, Eggsy sleeps on, mercifully ignorant of Harry's nightmares; he's still new enough to being a spy that he can generally sleep through minor disturbances.

Eggsy. In the winter dark, Harry can't see him, but he can hear the gentle rhythm of Eggsy's breathing. And he's long since memorised what Eggsy looks like when asleep, those beautiful eyes shuttered and dreaming, mouth relaxed and slightly open.

He has no idea what to do about Eggsy. He no longer feels the bitter sting of betrayal, but there is a space between them that did not exist before. The wound created by a breaking of trust cannot be healed by one night of sex, or tears of regret, or even words of love.

And yet he still loves Eggsy. He remains both shocked and deeply touched by the lengths Eggsy was prepared to go to in order to protect him. And he has to admit, if only in the most private recesses of his heart, that if their situations were reversed, he would have done exactly the same thing.

In a way he wishes it could be so. He would like to find Charlie Hesketh and put a bullet in him, silence him forever so he might never again threaten Eggsy, or even _think_ about hurting Eggsy. He has never used Kingsman resources for a private vendetta before, although he certainly wouldn't be the first. Chester King was famous for it. Before he won Alistair's heart, James routinely used the Kingsman database to dig up dirt on his romantic rivals. Even Merlin hasn't proved immune, using his superior knowledge to ensure his parents were treated fairly during a lengthy lawsuit.

The new Arthur would not approve. Merlin would turn a blind eye -- but only for so long. Harry knows all this and doesn't give a shit. What stops him, what keeps him from vowing to find Charlie and finish him off alone, is the sound of quiet breathing in the bed next to him.

This is something he and Eggsy must do together. After the mistrust that nearly tore them apart, they need to move forward together now. It's the only way to be certain that things are all right between them.

Down the street, a car door slams shut and an engine starts up. It's Mr. Cowan, headed for work at the same ungodly hour he's been leaving at for the past eight years. Harry knows this beyond question.

Yet the effect on him is instantaneous. The noise from the car isn't even that loud, but it might as well be a gunshot piercing the stillness of the pre-dawn morning. Harry is off the bed in half a second, one hand already reaching into the drawer of his nightstand for the pistol he keeps there.

Mercifully the impulse to fight -- to kill -- fades as swiftly as it came upon him. Slower to dissipate is the rush of tension drawing every muscle in his body taut and ready for action. His heart hammers painfully in his chest. He can't stop himself from looking around, checking sightlines and the shadows in the corner, making certain there are no lurking threats.

When he swallows, he can taste blood and brains.

A shudder sweeps through him. Fuck.

Slowly he releases the gun and eases the nightstand drawer closed. He forces himself to take a deep breath, to think of something besides the heavy smell of blood in the air, the screams of the dying, the way he had felt so fucking _alive_ as he slaughtered them all.

He can't stop thinking about it.

Yesterday he had his anger at Eggsy to focus on, the painful loss of trust and accompanying heartbreak. As terrible as those things were, they were infinitely better than facing up to what he did in South Glade Mission Church.

But he has no excuses now. It's all there in his head. That broken filmstrip in his mind has been repaired, a nauseating blend of true memory and images from the video.

And it's playing on a constant loop in his head.

With a slow breath, he sits down on the edge of the bed. After another long pause he feels calm enough to lie back down and ease himself beneath the covers. He knows he won't fall asleep, but he can at least rest. That's one lesson he learned early in his career as a Kingsman: take any opportunity for rest; one never knows when another chance will come.

He's still getting comfortable when Eggsy stirs in the dark, a movement heard and felt but not seen. For a moment Harry thinks he's gone back to sleep, then Eggsy makes a faint noise and shifts again. And then he's awake at last, his breath catching as he goes still.

It takes a moment for Harry to find his voice. "Good morning," he says quietly.

In the pause before Eggsy exhales, Harry realizes what must have gone through Eggsy's head in those first few seconds after waking. The memory of what he'd done, the fear that what happened last night was a one-off, that Harry must hate him, that they are finished, that he's destroyed their relationship forever.

There is relief in Eggsy's voice when he says, "Mornin' to you, too." His breath puffs into the space between them, unpleasant but not terribly so. Certainly not enough to keep Harry from rolling toward him and kissing him.

In the dark it's impossible to aim properly; he has to work off sound and scent. He manages pretty well, though, his initial kiss landing on Eggsy's cheek just beside his mouth. Eggsy turns his head and the kiss becomes the real thing.

Harry drapes his body across Eggsy's, pinning him in place, one hand on the side of Eggsy's face. The blankets slide off his shoulder, exposing his upper body to the cold air of the bedroom, but Eggsy's sleep-heavy warmth is more than enough to make up for it. Through the covers he hitches one leg atop Harry's, holding him there, clearly quite content to be where he is.

Eggsy breaks the kiss first, pulling his arms out from beneath the blankets so he can wrap them both around Harry. Little quivers run through him, something Harry can only feel in the dark, not see. He doesn't speak, but makes a quiet sound, a plea without words.

"I know," Harry assures him. Eggsy went about it all the wrong way, but he did what he did for love. The breach of trust his actions created will heal in time. They will be all right.

He has to believe that.

****

At breakfast, Eggsy eats little; Harry even less. He's brushed his teeth once already, but he still can't get the taste of blood out of his mouth. He lets the food on his plate grow cold and doesn't even bother pretending to eat any of it.

"So what are we gonna do now?" Eggsy asks. The question has obviously been preying on his mind; he's been subdued all morning. 

Harry sits with both hands wrapped around his coffee mug. He hasn't had much to drink, but he finds that he needs the warmth. Today he feels cold in a way that has nothing to do with the wintry weather or the air inside the house.

He is perfectly calm, though, as he looks over at Eggsy. "Our first priority is locating Charlie Hesketh. Then we can determine how to deal with him."

Eggsy swallows hard, but he nods. "Yeah," he says. "Okay."

"I don't suppose he gave you any clue about his final destination." He knows it's a longshot, but he has to ask. Charlie is obviously clever, and he received the benefit of months of Kingsman training; it's doubtful he would make such an amateur mistake.

Eggsy thinks it over, no doubt recalling his conversation with Charlie. "No," he says. "He didn't say nothin'."

"All right," Harry says. It's just what he expected, but he has to admit it's still disappointing. "We will just have to do this the old-fashioned way, then."

Eggsy nods again, but now he looks a bit uncertain.

"What's your schedule today?" Harry asks. Already he's planning ahead for his own day: ditching his own scheduled appointment with Merlin to go over the latest tech from Berlin; making a mental note to ask a steward to bring him lunch so he won't have to waste time in the dining room. If he's careful not to run into anyone who might prove distracting (and able to throw Merlin off without too much hassle) he should be able to spend the entire day in research.

Eggsy shrugs. "Got a class in the morning with Bors, and I'm supposed to meet Roxy in the gym for a spar."

"Keep those appointments," Harry says. "But when you have the chance, meet me in the library." He considers the rest of his breakfast, but there's no point in bothering. He's not remotely interested in any of it.

Eggsy looks at him, still uncertain, unasked questions on his face.

Harry doesn't know what he wants, and he lacks the patience to find out. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say here, so he falls back on the one thing he can say with absolute certainty. "We will find him," he says confidently. "I promise you that."

It must be what Eggsy needs to hear, because he visibly relaxes. "Yeah," he says quietly. "We will."

****

It's far too cold to walk to Savile Row, so Harry arranges for a car to pick them up. They don't talk on the ride to the shop, nor even on the bullet train. Eggsy sits across from him, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth, for once uninterested in the games on his phone.

Harry sends a text to Bors. _What is your curriculum today?_

The answer comes back right away, a long list of topics for the lesson, followed by an invitation. _Always room for one more!_

He is not amused. Bors is their finest chemical engineer, responsible for the neurotoxin that had done for Gazelle. Few people venture down to his lab, where weird smells and hazy smokes rule the day. Their own mad scientist, he's called, and it was no surprise when Chester asked him to play the antagonist for the train tracks scenario during the Lancelot trials.

But he's a good man, devoted to Kingsman and his job, and he has plenty to teach Eggsy about drugs and poisons and how to use them. And now that Harry knows his agenda, he can subtly quiz Eggsy about it later.

 _You have Gawain, that should be enough even for you_ , he writes back. _Let me know how he did please._

Bors replies, _With pleasure._

He glances up at Eggsy, noting the way Eggsy stares blankly at the curved door of the shuttle. Not seeing it, no. Thinking of something else, obviously, but what that could be, Harry can't begin to guess.

He puts his phone away and gazes down at his hands clasped in his lap. He's not proud of what he just did, but he can't deny that he feels better for having done it. It's not that he doesn't trust Eggsy.

It's that. Well.

He's a spy. Trust has never come easily to him -- that's part of the reason he's so good at his job. Eggsy got under his defenses so quickly, though, and so completely, that he never stood a chance.

A part of him still wonders if that wasn't the biggest mistake of his life.

Oh, he understands completely why Eggsy did what he did. He knows he would have done the same, had the threat been leveled at Eggsy. And yet it's hard to let go of the pain of betrayal, the heartache of thinking he might never be able to trust Eggsy again. Suspicion, once planted, has a tendency to bloom swiftly and spread far. He ought to know -- as a spy, it's his job to encourage such a thing in others.

Across from him, Eggsy stirs restlessly. The sudden movement, caught in the corner of his eye, sends adrenaline coursing through him. He barely moves, but at once he's both ready for action and forced to hold himself in check. His shoulder throbs, the old stab wound flaring to life. In the blurred sight of the tunnel walls rushing past, he sees bodies twisted in private combat, men and women covered in blood, falling down and not rising again.

Disgust sweeps through him. Little wonder Eggsy thought he was so fragile, in need of such protection that even stealing from him was preferable to telling him the truth.

It galls him to think Eggsy may have made the right decision.

Eggsy shifts in his seat again, reaches for his phone, then seems to change his mind. Harry watches all this covertly, clutches his own hands tightly enough to hurt, and doesn't move.

****

Shortly before noon, his phone chimes with a new message. Annoyed by the distraction, his first instinct is to ignore it. But then he remembers he's waiting on a few people to get in touch with him, so he grudgingly consents to look at it.

The text is from Merlin, who has apparently decided to wait a full hour after the scheduled start of their meeting before asking where he is. Harry considers not replying at all, then types, _Sorry, something came up._

Merlin's response comes in three rapid-fire texts, one after another.

_Of course it did._

_Dare I hope for the same time tomorrow?_

_Let me know if I can help._

Harry can't help but smile a little. That's Merlin to a tee. Irritated and unafraid to let him know it, while remaining the loyal friend and dutiful Kingsman.

 _I will_ , he replies, deliberately leaving the question about another meeting unanswered. He knows perfectly well that Merlin will realize it too, but that doesn't bother him. If he can be there tomorrow, he will. If he can't, he won't. It's really that simple.

He sets the phone down and turns back to his laptop. But his concentration has been broken, and he's not ready just yet to get back to his research. Neither can he ignore the headache he's had for a while now. No doubt it's due to stress and the lack of proper sleep, but he can't help imagining the pain being centered over the ugly scar above his left eye. He reaches up to rub at it absently, but the feel of the raised scar tissue, a starburst of white lines that will never go away, makes him recoil in self-disgust.

 _Get over yourself_ , he thinks grimly. _You have a job to do._

Before he can get involved once more in what's on the screen, though, the library doors open and Eggsy walks in.

Harry watches him approach. Eggsy looks just as he did this morning, suit and tie still perfectly put together. His hair is neatly styled and his Oxfords shine. He is very handsome and looking at him just then, Harry would very much like to kiss him.

Because the thing about Eggsy is that there is never a time when Harry isn't wildly in love with him. When he's in a bad mood and sulking like a petulant child. When he's sprawled on the sheets, sweat glistening on his body and his cock heavy on his belly. When he's happy, mouth wide open, eyes alight with laughter.

And Eggsy loves him back just as deeply. Otherwise he would never have given in to Charlie Hesketh, never have gone to such lengths to protect Harry.

It's enough to make him wonder what he did to deserve such a selfless love. And he knows too that he owes Eggsy an apology for his behaviour last night. It might have been justified at the outset, before he understood why Eggsy did what he did, but he no longer has the excuse of ignorance.

But other words must be said as well. Love alone cannot compensate for abused trust, and he needs to know some things before he can go on.

"So how was it?" he asks. He hasn't received a report yet from Bors.

"Well, I know how to make an antidote to three different poisons now," Eggsy says. He drops into the nearest chair and sprawls there, legs spread wide in a most unbecoming manner. "And did you know there's some spider in Brazil that can bite you and give you a boner that lasts for hours?"

The question, casual as it is, does not make Harry feel any better. If anything, he only feels himself tensing up further, adding to his headache. Eggsy's comment is exactly the kind of thing he could have read beforehand, an obscure fact designed to make it seem like he attended the class. Harry hates himself for thinking such things, but he can't help it.

"If I did, I've forgotten," he says.

"Can't imagine why," Eggsy mutters.

Harry gives him a commiserating smile. He could care less whether Eggsy learned a lot today, although as always he does wish Eggsy to be successful in his endeavours. No, what he cares about is the fact that Eggsy attended the class at all. That Eggsy was where he said he would be, doing what he said he would do.

Right on time, his phone chimes again. This time the text is from Bors. _Interesting class. Your boy is very sharp. You should've been there!_

A knot in his chest loosens at the sight of the words. He breathes easier now knowing that Eggsy was truly where he said he would be.

Even as he mourns the necessity of needing that knowledge.

"So, any luck?" Eggsy asks.

"Not as yet," Harry admits. He deletes the text from Bors and turns toward his computer. He's flagged Charlie's passport along with those of other Hesketh family members. He has facial recognition software running at both Heathrow and Gatwick airports, as well as St. Pancras and Victoria Station. But it's like looking for a needle in a haystack, one who knows how to blend in with the crowd.

Still, he's grateful for the work, and the concentration required. Focusing on the search for Charlie has given him no time to think about the contents of that awful video.

"So what do you need me to do?" Eggsy asks.

"Can you remember anyone he ever talked about?" Harry asks. "Friends he might have, someone he could stay with?"

Eggsy shakes his head right away, his nose scrunched up. "We didn't exactly talk, you know?"

"Yes, I know," Harry says impatiently, "but did you ever hear anything? Surely he spoke with some of the other candidates?"

"Probably," Eggsy says, rather sullenly, "but it wouldn't've been around me."

"All right," he sighs, momentarily giving up on that line of attack. "Then let's start with school records, social media friends, and the like."

"What are we looking for?" Eggsy asks.

 _I wish I knew_ , Harry thinks. Aloud he says, "Anything that might provide a clue to his whereabouts."

"What, you think he's still here in London?" Eggsy asks in disbelief.

"I think it's possible," Harry says. "He may not expect you to go to Kingsman with the truth, but he would have planned for that anyway. And I suspect he's the type of person who rather enjoys watching someone squirm. He's got you where he wants you -- or so he thinks -- and he'll want to see what you do next."

Some of the color drains from Eggsy's face to hear that. He finally sits up straight. "So what the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing," Harry says. "Nothing out of the ordinary, at least."

Eggsy nods. He squares his shoulders and his chin lifts. His courage is one of the things Harry loves most about him, and he's relieved to see it now. After what he has accomplished, Charlie Hesketh has already proven his worth as an adversary. Underestimating him would be a very bad idea, especially since Charlie too has the benefit of Kingsman training.

"So..." Eggsy hesitates, then takes the plunge. "When are we gonna talk to Arthur?"

Harry presses his lips together. He hasn't exactly forgotten about his promise to speak with Arthur, but it's moved down on his list of priorities. First and foremost, they need to find Charlie. If they can go into the meeting with Arthur armed with some solid information they will be in a much better position to defend themselves.

But he made a promise to Eggsy. And it's a conversation they do need to have. Charlie poses a threat not only to Eggsy, but to Kingsman as a whole. What Arthur does with that information is her choice, but she needs to know.

"We'll go now," he says.

Eggsy looks like he already regrets his impulsive question, but he nods, as brave as ever.

"But first," Harry says. He takes a breath. "I owe you an apology, Eggsy. I was unfair to you last night. I should have trusted you to have a reason for what you did."

"It's my fault," Eggsy says quickly. "I shoulda told you, like you said."

"What's done is done," Harry says. Dwelling on recriminations and guilt will get neither of them anywhere, and certainly won't help them find Charlie Hesketh. "But I wanted you to know that I regret my behaviour, and…" He hesitates momentarily, finding it difficult to say the words out loud. "I am grateful for what you did for me."

"Fuck," Eggsy says. It's clear that he doesn't know how to respond, but he manages a brave smile, trying to keep things from degenerating into emotional territory neither of them knows how to navigate very well. "Don't you know I would do anything for you?"

 _I do now_ , Harry thinks. _And I would do the same for you._

That's the moment he decides he's going to make his wish come true. He is going to find Charlie and deal with him on his own. Eggsy should not have to face Charlie again, should never have had to deal with him at all.

He doesn't say anything about that, though. He just gives Eggsy a smile and he says, "I do."

****

Arthur is in her office, and since she has made it known that she is available to her agents at any time, Harry feels no guilt at showing up without first arranging a meeting. The room has changed greatly from when Chester King held court here. There are plenty of pictures of Arthur's extended family, little kids with dark hair and wide smiles. A braided rug covers the floor in front of the windows. The desk is smaller, not so imposing, a potted plant sitting on one corner.

The lady herself is behind the desk, the remains of her lunch pushed off to one side. She arrived in England when Harry was still in hospital in Kentucky, working to put himself back together again. She's from the East Asia branch, and she is no stranger to the demands Kingsman makes on its people. Her husband was an agent, giving his life to stop a madman with a chemical bomb; for his courage his name was retired, the only monument Kingsman can give their dead. 

She looks up as Harry and Eggsy walk in. If she is surprised to see them, she doesn't let it show. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."

"Arthur." Harry likes her. More importantly, he respects her, something that had been missing from his relationship with Chester for the last ten years he knew the man.

She nods toward the chairs opposite her desk. Harry sits down and tries not to think about the very first night he ever spent with Eggsy, during the Lancelot trials. _All right, first lesson. You should have asked me before taking a seat._ He can still remember the way Eggsy's face fell, expecting yet more scolding. 

Eggsy sits carefully, and Harry has a brief but powerful urge to stand again. Place himself in front of Eggsy and defend him from Arthur's condemnation.

The irony is not lost on him.

Arthur looks politely interested in what they have to say. "How may I help you?" she asks. She clasps her hands atop her desk.

Harry speaks before Eggsy has the chance. "A situation has arisen that requires your attention."

A slim eyebrow rises. "Yes?"

"A former candidate for Lancelot's seat has made threats against a Kingsman agent," he says.

Arthur looks at them gravely. "Who?"

"Me," Eggsy says. 

Arthur blinks, somewhat startled. Then she says, "I meant, who has made these threats?"

Eggsy answers this one too, and Harry lets him. He understands the need for penance, for atonement. All he needs to do is think of what he saw on that video yesterday to be reminded of that.

"His name's Charlie Hesketh. He was the old Arthur's choice." Eggsy glances over at him, then looks back at their current Arthur. "I thought I killed him on V-Day. I guess not."

Arthur takes this in her stride. It's impossible to tell from her calm demeanor if she knows who Charlie is or what happened between him and Eggsy on V-Day. "And what threats has he made?"

Again Eggsy glances over at Harry. He's obviously unsure if he should tell the truth, protecting Harry even now.

"He has a video of what happened at South Glade Mission Church," Harry says. He's pleased with the neutral tone of his voice, as though just saying the words out loud doesn't make him want to vomit.

Arthur's eyes narrow. "I thought we destroyed that," she says sharply.

And indeed they had, sending in a Statesman to do the job, taking the security camera video from the American FBI. But in the post-V-Day chaos, several weeks had passed before anyone thought to order that particular mission, and clearly at some point before then, Charlie Hesketh had managed to get his hands on it.

He refuses to wonder just how many other people managed it, as well.

"He's threatening to put it on the Internet," Eggsy says.

"Exposing not just Galahad, but all of Kingsman," Arthur says, working it out as she speaks. Tightly controlled anger sparks in her dark eyes.

Harry says nothing. In the pre-dawn darkness while Eggsy still slept, he had thought about what he would do should Charlie follow through on his threat and put the video out there. What he would do if his entire life's work should be exposed, the secrecy he's spent a lifetime guarding ripped away in a single moment. He still doesn't know the answer, doesn't know how he would react or what he would do.

Merlin once accused him of lacking imagination, to which he had calmly replied that no, he merely preferred to deal with the present rather than speculate uselessly on the future. At the time he had seen it as a strength, something to be striven for. Now he wonders if maybe Merlin had it right all along. Maybe if he were a different person, he would know what to do.

Maybe then he wouldn't feel so fucking terrified.

"What did he want in return?" Arthur asks. "I assume he had a price for his silence?"

Eggsy's mouth turns down. "Money," he says. "A lot of money."

Arthur looks at them both. "And did you give it to him?"

"We felt it was better to give him the money now," Harry says smoothly, "and use the opportunity to see what he does with it and where he goes next. That will give us an idea of what his intentions are, along with the chance to formulate a plan."

Beside him, Eggsy sits very still. He's smart enough not to let his surprise show on his face, but he's obviously caught off guard by Harry's lie.

Thankfully, Arthur doesn't seem to notice anything amiss. She doesn't look too pleased by Harry's answer, though. "I would have advised a different course of action. You should have spoken to me _before_ you went ahead with your plans." She exhales through her nose, her only outward concession to her irritation. "But since it's already done, then I can only say that you are of course free to use whatever resources you need." 

She pins Harry with her gaze. "Bring him in. _Quietly_. If we can find a place for him here, he might--"

Eggsy shakes his head. "No way. That's not gonna work."

Arthur turns slowly toward him. Like Chester King before her, she does not appreciate being interrupted. "And why not?" 

Eggsy doesn't blink. "Kingsman killed his family. He'll never work with us."

Arthur considers this. "Very well then. Handle the situation as you see fit. I trust your judgement." She looks at Harry again. "I trust also that you'll be discreet."

Harry purses his lips, irked at being told how to do his job. "Of course."

"I will inform the other agents," Arthur says. She doesn't appear to be looking forward to this. "Once we—"

"Do we have to?" Eggsy blurts. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

Arthur's voice rises faintly. "Every agent in Kingsman is at risk until Hesketh is apprehended. Are you suggesting we not warn them of the danger?"

"But he ain't gonna go after them," Eggsy says.

"And you know this how?" She rubs one thumb over her other hand; Harry can see how fiercely she is gripping her own hands.

Eggsy swallows hard, but as always, his courage does not desert him. "Cause I'm the one he hates," he says. "I'm the one who killed his family. And he hated me even when we were in training together. He thought he shoulda been Lancelot just 'cause he's rich. I'm the one he'll go after."

"It seems to me," Arthur says mildly, "that that makes _Lancelot_ a target."

Eggsy looks stricken at this thought. It makes a certain kind of sense, and Harry can't fault Arthur for reaching that conclusion, even though he disagrees with it. If Charlie was truly interested in taking Kingsman down, he would not have asked Eggsy for money. He would have asked for information, passwords, or the like. No, this is personal, between Charlie and Eggsy. Harry just has the misfortune of being the pawn caught between them.

"You may speak with her if you like," Arthur says. "I know you two are close. I will call a meeting with the other agents first thing tomorrow morning." She takes a breath and brings her hands down to her lap. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, gentlemen."

The meeting is over. Dismissed, Harry stands up. After a moment, Eggsy follows suit.

Arthur says, "Galahad, a word if you please."

Eggsy looks sharply at him. Having fully expected this, Harry only nods. For a moment he thinks Eggsy might protest or simply refuse to go, but with a lingering look, Eggsy heads for the door and slips out.

Harry sits down again and waits for it. He's already thinking ahead to the conversation he must have with Merlin. He needs to tell his friend about Charlie, while getting as much information as he can; as Charlie's instructor, Merlin stands to have more data on him than anyone else.

But there is also a more simple reason for wanting to talk to Merlin. He needs to tell someone the truth about what happened. He needs to know he isn't overreacting to Eggsy's betrayal, that his newfound mistrust isn't misplaced.

More than that, though, he needs someone to tell him that everything will be all right, that he and Eggsy will get through this.

But before he can speak with Merlin, there is still this meeting to get through. Harry sits still, patiently composed, as Arthur gazes at him. They met once before, fifteen years ago in Shanghai for a joint mission between their two branches. She was an agent herself then, her husband still alive, no grey yet in her hair. Harry remembers her calmly leading a group of agents into what they all knew was an ambush in order to avoid certain catastrophe if they did not. Several of them had sustained injuries that day, but thanks to her, no one had died.

"I understand Gawain is young and inexperienced," she says severely. "But I expected more from you. It is not Kingsman policy to negotiate with anyone who is in a position to do us harm. Now, I know you want to protect him, but I need you to be honest with me. Did you truly condone this? Or did he act first and tell you later?"

Harry thinks about the USB drive sitting on the dining room table, and the horrible contents it contains. He thinks about Eggsy making the decision to steal from him, knowing that if he found out, in all likelihood it would mean the end of their relationship. He thinks about the way Eggsy trembled in the dark this morning after he kissed him.

He thinks about his heartache when he thought Eggsy had betrayed him and his trust. He thinks about his astonishment when he heard the reasons behind that betrayal, when he finally understood just how much Eggsy loved him.

He thinks about lying beside Eggsy in the dark, about never having that intimacy again. And he knows he could never do it.

"We acted together," he says.

Arthur doesn't respond right away. She doesn't know him well enough to know if he's lying or not. No doubt she has some suspicions, but she doesn't press the issue. She simply nods, accepting his words at face value. "All right."

He gathers himself to go, but Arthur isn't finished with him yet. "Harry."

He sinks back in the chair.

"That video," she says.

He makes himself meet her gaze head on. If he flinches now, if he shows any sign of distress, she will pull him off the mission before it has even begun.

"I don't need to tell you how important it is that it not fall into anyone else's hands," Arthur says. "Deal with Hesketh as you best see fit, but your first priority needs to be obtaining all copies of that video."

As if he needs to be told that. "I understand," Harry says.

Arthur starts to speak, then stops. She sighs quietly. "I'm very sorry," she says. "I know it can't have been easy for you to see it."

Harry blinks, and for a second he's back there again. Surrounded by harsh voices and the crash of splintering wood as pews break. Blood hot on his skin and in his mouth. The fierce pulse of rage in his throat urging him to kill and kill again until it's finished.

He stands up so fast he nearly staggers. "If you'll excuse me."

He can't get out of there quickly enough. He forces himself to walk normally, though, aware that Arthur is watching him closely. It isn't until he's in the hall, the door closed at his back, that he dares to breathe.

Eggsy is there, waiting anxiously for him. "What did she say?"

"Nothing I didn't already know," Harry says.


	5. But More Than You'll Ever Know

In the afternoon he's supposed to spar with Roxy, and even though it's pretty much the last thing he wants to do, Eggsy keeps the appointment.

He's early to the gym, which doesn't help his nerves any. He's been on edge since this morning, waking up to remember that Harry knows the truth about what he did and why, wondering if he was about to get kicked out of the bed they share. But instead Harry had kissed him, and for a little while he had felt okay about things, like maybe they were gonna be all right after all.

Since then, though, not much has made him feel any better. It's plainly obvious that there is a distance between them that didn't exist before. It's there in the way Harry looks at him, judging, measuring -- and no doubt coming up short. Probably wondering what his next betrayal will be and when it will fall.

Not that Eggsy can blame him.

Then there's that awful video. He can't even begin to imagine what Harry must be going through after watching that. They never really knew how much of that day he remembered, how much was erased in the trauma of being shot at point-blank range. Now even if he doesn't have any actual memories of the events in the church, he has the video and its bloody images, which is probably a thousand times worse because now he can actually _see_ himself doing those things.

Is he frightened of the video getting out there? Does he even care? Eggsy is afraid to ask, afraid to know the answers.

And anyway it ain't gonna come to that, he swears. They'll get the original video from Charlie and no one will ever see it. Then they'll destroy it, along with the copy he bought and paid for so dearly. He'll do that if it's the last fucking thing he ever does.

But first he's gotta tell Roxy that she might be Charlie's next target.

She enters the gym with a bright smile. "Sorry I'm late. You ready?"

They square off on the mat, both of them still completely dressed. A suit might be a modern gentleman's armor, but it's definitely not the easiest thing to fight in. Which is why all Kingsman sparring sessions and combat lessons are only conducted with the agent in question wearing one. Because the suit is their armor and their uniform, but the suit is also a weapon to be used as much as a gun or the poison-coated knife hidden in their shoes. They need to learn to fight both in it and with it.

They wish each other luck, and then get right to it. They're pretty evenly matched; most days they fight each other to a draw. 

Not today.

Roxy is quicker and more fearless. Eggsy's got half a lifetime of flinching away from violence to overcome. Roxy knows this, and like any good opponent, she takes full advantage of his weakness. A flurry of feints at his face leaves him reeling back, off balance. It's a simple matter for her to drop and roll in, then hook a foot about his knees and land him flat on his back.

She bounces upright immediately, grinning. "One to zero."

Eggsy grimaces and gets to his feet. He takes a deep breath and settles back on his heels, ready for round two.

Half an hour later it's four to one. Roxy looks at him. "What's going on? You don't usually suck at this." She smirks. "Well, you do, but not this badly."

Normally Eggsy would protest, but with good humor. Today he can't even pretend. He wipes the sweat off his face with a soft towel and sighs. "Lay off, okay?"

Roxy blinks. "Everything okay?"

"Me and Harry had a meeting with Arthur," he admits.

She grows serious right away. "How'd that go?"

He's got to tell her. She deserves to know that Charlie is out there, that she might be his next target, singled out for his hatred because she won the title of Lancelot and he was sent packing. Eggsy doubts this will actually happen, but it seems all bets are off when it comes to dealing with Charlie. Better to tell her and have nothing happen than for her to find out the truth the hard way.

"I did something stupid," he says. He walks over to a padded bench set against one wall and sinks onto it, still holding the sweaty towel in both hands. "I mean, I only did it to help Harry, but it was still pretty fucking stupid."

Roxy sits beside him and offers a commiserating smile. She also offers her water bottle. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Eggsy takes the bottle and drinks deeply. It doesn't do much for his pounding heart. He thinks about Harry kissing him this morning, and the lack of trust in Harry's eyes as he asked how it went in Bors's class -- as though he didn't think Eggsy had actually attended. It had hurt like hell to see that, but worse, far worse, was knowing that Harry had every right to feel that way.

He has nobody but himself to blame for the position he's in now.

"I stole a million pounds from him," he says.

Roxy goes still. "Oh," she says, very quiet.

"I was gonna pay it back," Eggsy says. "I didn't want him to find out. But he did."

"Why did you do it?" she asks. There's no judgement in her voice, one of the many things he loves about Roxy.

He holds the water bottle with both hands, clutching it tightly. He can't bring himself to look at her. "I needed it for a ransom."

The moment the words are out of his mouth, he realizes how overly dramatic they sound. "I mean, not like that. Fuck. It wasn't like a kidnapping or anything." He exhales loudly. "Charlie's back."

"What?" Roxy sounds shocked. "But he's dead. You killed him on V-Day."

"I thought I did," Eggsy says. "I guess not. My ring must've fried Valentine's implant or something." He jerks one shoulder up in a shrug. "Whatever it was, he ain't dead. And he texted me a few days ago saying he had the video of Harry killing all them people in the church, and if I didn't pay him, he would put it on the Internet."

Roxy doesn't say anything. He still can't look at her, but he can sense her reaction, softening with compassion for him while battling a sudden fury at Charlie.

"So I stole the money. I didn't know what else to do. Only Harry found out, and then he found the video, too."

"Oh no," Roxy murmurs. She's never seen it. To his knowledge, no one has except Merlin and himself. Chester King had seen it, of course, but he's long dead. He doesn't even know if the new Arthur has watched it. After V-Day, but before they knew Harry was still alive, Merlin had told him that the video would be filed away on a secure server, where nobody would have access to it. Eggsy had believed him; he knew Merlin didn't want people to see it any more than he did.

"So we had a huge row," he says. No matter what might happen to them next, even if this all ends well through some miracle, he's never gonna forget the cold fury in Harry's eyes as he sat there, holding the flash drive and demanding answers. He's never gonna forget the way his heart sank, the way he knew, he just _knew_ , that it was all over between them.

"But you're okay now?" Roxy says hopefully.

Eggsy glances at her and shrugs again. "I guess? I dunno. Anyway, we had our meeting with Arthur, and she's gonna tell the other agents that Charlie is out there, cause they have a right to know. But I wanted to be the one to tell you."

"Do you think he's coming after anyone else?" she asks.

"I dunno," he admits. "Probably not."

"He hates me too, you know," Roxy says. She sounds calm enough, and Eggsy hopes like hell that it's the truth. He hates to think that Roxy might be afraid of someone like Charlie.

"I know," he says. He finally steels himself to look over at her. She looks calm, too, her expression composed, but he knows her well enough to know that it's a lie. She's angry and worried and concerned all at once.

He doesn't know how to tell her though that he really believes she's safe. Charlie hates him because of his background, because he showed Charlie up at every chance, and because he's the one who killed Charlie's family. Because he won and Charlie lost.

"So what are you going to do now?" she asks.

"We're trying to find him," Eggsy says. "I swear you don't gotta worry, Rox. We won't let him get anywhere near you."

Roxy gives him a narrow look. "I can take care of myself, you know." Before Eggsy can say that of course she can, she asks, "And you and Harry?"

He shrugs, because he honestly doesn't know. He hopes they're going to be okay, that he hasn't completely ruined everything. Harry started out so angry yesterday, but by the end of the evening he had calmed down and seemed to understand why Eggsy had done it. Then they had started kissing, and everything after that had felt so good, so right, like all the bad shit hadn't even happened.

But today Harry had looked at him with such mistrust, and that's going to take a while to go away. If it ever does at all.

He looks at Roxy. "I really don't know."

****

Three days later he still doesn't know.

The sad thing is, he doesn't think Harry knows, either. Sometimes they're okay, they smile at each other and everything seems like it's back to normal. They kiss each other good-morning, they text each other throughout the day, and at night they lie naked and tangled together.

But other times he catches a speculative look in Harry's eyes, especially when they meet up again at the end of the day after doing their own thing at HQ. The silence between them is not always easy; the ride to and from HQ in particular is fraught with tension. And Harry is not sleeping well, jolting awake often enough that even Eggsy, who can sleep through most disturbances, isn't getting much rest.

In fact, Harry is not doing well, full stop. He's visibly on edge these days, startling easily, especially when he glimpses something in his peripheral vision -- as though he's awaiting an attack at any moment. He doesn't eat much, and more than once Eggsy's caught him reaching up to rub the scar above his eye, only to jerk his hand away at the first touch.

If Eggsy were braver, he would say something. Instead he just watches in silent misery. None of this would be happening if he hadn't kept his meeting with Charlie secret, if Harry hadn't found that awful video and watched it on his own.

He wants to just flat out ask Harry if he's okay. If _they_ are okay. Except he doesn't dare. He's terrified of Harry looking him in the eye and telling him no. Or worse, saying yes, but hesitating first. 

He knows he's being a coward, but he can't help it. 

All of Kingsman knows that Charlie is back now. A big chunk of resources have been diverted to finding him. Eggsy helps out when he can, which isn't too often, in between lessons and fittings at the tailor shop. Harry spends most of his time in the library, chasing down leads so tenuous that in another time Eggsy might have laughed at the impossibility of it all. 

But there's nothing funny about any of this.

January is winding down by then, and it's not quite so cold out anymore. The days are still short and dreary, though, matching Eggsy's mood. He spends one afternoon visiting his mum and Daisy, delighting over Daisy's newest scribbles, listening to his mum's stories about her new job. By the time he leaves, he's worn out from having to pretend to be cheerful all the time, like nothing is wrong in his life.

He turns down the walk to his own house. Only halfway down the lane, his footsteps falter. It's Sunday, and lights blaze in most of the houses, beckoning warmth and contentment inside. The white house at the end of the lane is no different; lights gleam in the downstairs windows and the office upstairs. It's not like Harry to leave the lights on in a room he isn't currently occupying, so he must actually be in the office. Probably hard at work on the search for Charlie.

He can see it so clearly. Harry will be sitting at the desk, still wearing the navy jumper he had on this morning. The laptop is open and he's staring down at it, that little furrow between his brows that means he's got a headache. There's a drink beside him, forgotten in his concentration, the ice mostly melted. He finishes studying one set of photographs from airport security cameras, and moves on to the next without stopping.

Imagining it makes Eggsy's heart break a little. None of this is Harry's fault. He didn't go to Kentucky planning to kill all those people. He never wanted to be Valentine's guinea pig or to have his ordeal recorded for anyone without scruples to watch. But he's the one suffering for it.

Eggsy squares his shoulders. So okay, Harry isn't exactly an innocent lamb. Hell, none of them are, or they wouldn't be Kingsman agents. But in this, this whole fucked-up situation with Charlie, yeah, Harry is innocent. And Eggsy'll be damned if he lets Charlie get away with it.

He walks swiftly down the lane and up to the house. The door is unlocked and he lets himself in to the tune of JB's toenails as the pug runs up to greet him. Eggsy takes his coat off and hangs it up, gives JB an absent pat, then heads upstairs.

Everything in the office is almost exactly as he imagined it. The only difference is Harry isn't looking at the screen. His glasses rest on the desk beside his forgotten drink and his head is slightly bowed, his eyes closed and his left thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. He doesn't look up when Eggsy comes in, which means he either isn't aware of Eggsy's presence -- highly unlikely, given his nature -- or that he knows, but just doesn't care.

Either option is not good.

Eggsy doesn't ask a stupid question, no inquiry about how it's going or if he's found anything. The answer is plain as day.

Instead he walks up to the desk, circling around behind it. He glances once at the laptop, and yes, there is a facial recognition program running in the background while Harry has been manually searching through page after page of photos.

 _I'm sorry_ , he thinks. _I'm so fucking sorry._

He sets his hands on Harry's shoulders. Instantly Harry tenses up, although he doesn't move after that first reaction. Eggsy waits a couple seconds anyway, just to be sure, then he starts rubbing Harry's shoulders.

Harry exhales softly. His hand drops to his lap.

Eggsy keeps going, his hands firm but gentle, trying to coax the knots out of Harry's shoulders. He checks the program running on the laptop, then looks away.

From this vantage point he can see a few strands of grey at the crown of Harry's head. He can smell Harry's aftershave, a scent he's always loved, although he's chosen a different one for himself. His thumbs press in, working at muscles bunched with tension, offering what little help he can.

He only stops when his hands start to ache. By then Harry seems more relaxed, although Eggsy isn't stupid enough to think that it'll last. Still, it's enough. It's something.

He leans down, slips both arms around Harry and rests his cheek against Harry's left temple, not far from the scar he's borne since Kentucky.

After a moment, Harry reaches up and clasps Eggsy's right wrist. He squeezes tight, and doesn't let go.

****

It's still dark out when he's woken by a sudden noise. A gasping inhale, a shuddery exhale. The dip of the mattress. A dark silhouette sitting on the edge of the bed.

Instantly he's wide awake, all thoughts of sleep gone. He starts to reach out, then lets his hand fall back.

Yesterday Roxy had asked him if he thought it would have made a difference if he had told Harry about the video ahead of time. If Harry would have asked to see it once he knew Eggsy had it in his possession. 

Eggsy hadn't known how to answer Roxy's question then, and he still doesn't know. He suspects that it wouldn't have mattered if Harry knew what he was getting into before he watched it.

But maybe not. Maybe it would have made a difference if Harry had known what was on that flash drive before he plugged it in. If he had been given a chance to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to see.

They'll never know.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

Harry nods, a gesture Eggsy senses rather than sees. In the darkness he can tell Harry is sitting with his arms braced, hands gripping the edge of the bed, but that's about all he can see. It makes him glad he didn't reach out and actually make physical contact; he's been there himself in the aftermath of a violent nightmare, caught in that weird headspace where any unexpected touch is seen as a threat.

He glances at the clock on the nightstand. It's only 2:48, far too early to give up on sleep for the night. He's about to suggest that they give it another go when Harry stands up and heads for the bathroom.

Eggsy sighs and stares up at the ceiling. Warm air hisses as the heat kicks on. Enough light spills into the room from the crack beneath the bathroom door that he can actually see a little. He listens as the toilet flushes, then the tap runs. The light turns off and the door opens. Harry walks back into the bedroom, but stops before the bed.

Only two steps will take him to the door, and out into the hall. Eggsy rises up on his elbows, instinct keeping him low, minimizing any appearance as a threat. It's the survivor in him, the cunning that kept him alive during all those years with Dean. "Come back to bed," he says, a quiet request, definitely not an order.

Harry just stands there. In the dark it's impossible to read his expression.

Eggsy waits, holding his breath.

Without a sound, Harry starts walking. Not toward the door, but around the bed. Back where he belongs, underneath the covers, lying next to Eggsy.

****

They don't talk about it, of course. Not that they ever have in the past when the nightmares come calling. They just go through their normal morning routine, and if Harry only pretends to eat his breakfast, Eggsy knows better than to comment.

At the door, though, they separate. Harry is going on to HQ alone. Today is Eggsy's day on the Lord Havisham case.

That's not the man's real name, but it's the one they all use to refer to him. An MP with a seat on a couple of select committees is suspected of selling his insider information to the highest bidder. Kingsman has been surveilling him for a couple weeks now, with every agent taking a turn at it. The security detail for such an important man will be highly trained and alert for any unfamiliar faces that keep showing up. By keeping the surveillance random, it minimizes the chance of discovery.

And today it's Eggsy's turn. He's already in costume, a New York Yankees snapback pulled over his head, a London guidebook crammed in the pocket of his coat. A couple of the Kingsman handlers will be waiting for him to start sending them texts and pictures like he's just a regular tourist getting in touch with his friends, adding to his cover and lending it some authenticity should the worst happen and one of the MP's security detail asks to see his phone.

Not that Eggsy expects that to happen. He'll be following from a discreet distance. And Havisham's schedule has him in meetings most of the day anyway, in places Eggsy can't get to. He'll be doing nothing more exciting than loitering outside in the cold, taking pictures of buildings he's seen all his life and working on his American accent.

"Good luck," Harry says.

"You too," Eggsy says. He rises up on his toes a little so he can give Harry a kiss.

Harry's arm slides around him, pressing him close. The kiss deepens, and Eggsy goes with it willingly; if Harry were to turn him around and walk him back inside, he would go without a whisper of complaint.

But that doesn't happen. Harry gives him one last kiss, then straightens up. "I'll see you tonight." If he's worried about what will happen once they're separated, he doesn't show it. If he's anxious about whatever lies and treasons Eggsy will really be doing today, he hides it well.

Sudden guilt makes Eggsy's insides twist. Maybe Harry isn't thinking any of those things. Maybe _he's_ the only one full of suspicions and mistrust.

"Yeah," he says quietly. 

Harry looks down at him, apparently in no hurry to be off. He studies Eggsy for a long moment, and then he smiles. "I'll text you later," he says. "Your cover can receive texts, yes?"

Eggsy blinks in surprise. "Yeah," he says.

"Right," Harry says. He stands there a while longer, giving Eggsy the clear impression that he doesn't want to leave. Then he seems to get hold of himself, throwing back those broad shoulders and lifting his chin. "Until tonight."

Eggsy lingers in the doorway as Harry walks down the lane, buttoned up in his black coat, Rainmaker in one hand. It's stupid the way he always feels like this whenever Harry walks away from him, part of him wanting to call out and make Harry stop and turn around and come back. He knows it's dumb, knows perfectly well that it's because of what happened that day in June when they were both too raw with hurt and anger and stubborn pride, when Harry walked out on him and ended up almost dead outside a blood-soaked church in Kentucky.

He sighs. He's gotta stop thinking about that shit. Recent events have just made that silent worry sink its claws deeper in him, and he knows it. Brooding on it now won't get him anywhere.

He's gotta stop worrying about what's going on with them. 

He has work to do.

****

As he expected, the surveillance is boring. Lord Havisham goes exactly where he's supposed to be, and Eggsy loses sight of him once he's inside. He hangs around Westminster, taking enough pictures of Big Ben to make a sizable dent in the memory on his phone. He texts the handlers at Kingsman, texts Roxy, texts Jamal, calls his mum, and at last gets a text from Harry.

_How's it going? Having fun?_

It's a simple question, but Eggsy can't help wondering what it really means. Obviously it's to help him maintain his cover, should anyone demand to see his phone and find out what he's been doing out here all day long. But is it also a real question? Is Harry probing, trying to find out where he _really_ is?

He thinks maybe that's exactly what it is.

He walks a little bit down the road, until he's got the perfect shot. Then he takes a selfie with Big Ben in the background, the time on the great clock clearly visible. Then he sends it to Harry.

As soon as he does it, he wants to take it back. It was a shitty thing to do. 

But maybe not. Maybe Harry is grateful for the evidence that Eggsy is right where he's supposed to be. Maybe Harry is looking at that picture and hating himself for feeling that gratitude, for the way he can't trust Eggsy anymore.

Eggsy gets it. He does. Roxy put him on the right path the other night while they were getting coffee. She had listened to him moan about the situation for a while before asking, "Haven't you ever loved someone but weren't sure if you could trust them?"

He had shaken his head no, but later that night, lying awake in bed while Harry slept uneasily beside him, he had remembered something from a few years ago. Sitting in the Black Prince with Ryan and Jamal, sipping on a pint while keeping a wary eye on Rottie and his gang. Listening to Ryan whine about his girlfriend, who he was pretty sure was cheating on him.

Ryan talked about how he would go through his girl's phone, trying to see where she had been and with who. But he had hated himself for it. "I feel like a fucking creeper."

"That's cause you are," Jamal had said, laughing, and Eggsy had joined in.

In the end things had resolved themselves when the girl left not only Ryan but the other bloke too to go be an au pair in Australia. But that kind of thing isn't going to happen here, though. The night Harry confronted him, Eggsy had been willing to accept whatever Harry wanted to do to him. But too much has happened since then.

He knows Harry doesn't trust him the way he used to. He understands. He did this to them, and he's owned up to it. But that doesn't mean he's going anywhere.

All around him, tourists and Londoners pass him by, some of them almost bumping into him as he just stands there like a dick in the middle of the pavement. He's about to put his phone away when he sees the dots indicating Harry is typing. His heart starts beating a little faster. 

But the text is simple. _It looks cold there._

Again it's a message designed to work with his cover. Possibly it's also an acknowledgment of his whereabouts. He has no way of knowing. Maybe Harry wasn't worried, but Eggsy made it into a big deal all for nothing. Or maybe Harry _did_ wonder and this is his way of recognising what Eggsy did with that selfie. Short of coming right out and asking him, there's no way to know.

Eggsy is really fucking sick of not knowing what's going on. 

At last he starts moving, joining the flow of people as they cross Westminster Bridge. _Yeah_ , he writes back, barely glancing up in time to avoid a tour group. _Can't wait to come back for another visit._ He's scheduled for another round next week Wednesday. When he gets to HQ tomorrow he's supposed to work out his cover for that day with Caradoc; he hopes it's a more fun one this time.

 _Wish I could be there_ , Harry writes, and Eggsy honestly can't tell if he means it or if he's just saying that to keep up the cover of Eggsy's happy tourist persona.

He puts his phone away and sighs. Even the most boring missions are more fun with Harry. They could be walking the streets now while Harry shared stories of past missions. He could try to make Harry laugh with some of his truly awful jokes. They could get lunch in a sandwich shop and sit by the window so they could keep an eye on the building containing their target.

But it's not meant to be. So Eggsy gets back to work, wasting away the afternoon, and when Lord Havisham finally emerges and gets into his car, Eggsy puts away his guidebook and strikes out confidently for the corner. The heavy afternoon traffic makes it easy to keep the car in his sights even though he's on foot, and when the car arrives at its final destination, he reports it with a mixture of boredom and relief.

"Well done," Merlin says over his glasses. "You can head home if you like."

"Yeah, all right," Eggsy says.

He does go home -- but not right away. First he makes a couple stops, popping into Sainsbury's, then the off-licence closest to Stanhope Mews. He's loaded down with plastic bags by the time he gets home, but his step is lighter than it has been in a while.

He sings a little as he makes dinner, even stopping once to dance when his latest favorite pop song comes on. He keeps thinking about the way Harry lingered this morning, clearly not wanting to leave him. Harry wouldn't have done that if he was truly thinking of ending things between them.

His phone dings and he slides up to the counter to get a look at it. _On my way_ , says the text.

Eggsy grins. With a flour-covered finger, he replies, _K_.

Now that he's got a deadline, he gets back to work with a flurry of activity. He sets the dining room table, does a quick cleaning job in the downstairs loo, then dashes upstairs to change into a fresh shirt and tie. He pours the wine, lights the candles, and checks obsessively on the contents of the oven.

Harry arrives a little later than Eggsy expected, which is actually a good thing, because it gives him a chance to put the kitchen back to rights. When the front door opens, he's standing by the dining room table, perfectly placed to enjoy the sight of Harry's surprise. "Hey."

"What's all this?" Harry asks.

Eggsy holds a fierce debate with himself for half a second, then he sidles forward. He gives Harry a kiss. "Thought I'd do something for you."

Harry kisses him back, but there is something unhappy lurking in his eyes. He looks at the dining room table, the silver and china, the candles and the wineglasses, and he purses his lips. It's plain to see that he is not terribly pleased by all the effort Eggsy's gone to. "You needn't fuss," he says.

"I know I _needn't_ ," Eggsy says. He tries to keep it light, so he won't let on how disappointed he is by Harry's reaction. "But I wanted to." Before Harry can reply, he adds, " 'Sides, you fuss over me. Now it's my turn."

Harry draws in a breath like he's about to speak, but whatever he was going to say, he decides to let it go. He exhales slowly. "All right. Thank you, Eggsy." He smiles, but it looks a bit strained. "It looks lovely."

He's so obviously faking it that Eggsy has to count to three before answering. He needs the chance to get himself under control, to not snap something in anger and ruin the evening before it even begins. Things are still fragile enough between them. And yeah, maybe he picked a bad day to fuss over Harry at a time when his nerves are already frayed and every night he dreams about that fucking church. And yeah, Harry is too stressed out to eat much lately, but come on. Sooner or later he's gotta at least try to get back to normal. Why can't it be tonight?

So he makes himself smile back, and he hopes it looks natural. "Wait 'til you taste it."

It gets better after that. Harry insists on serving him and Eggsy lets him, because he knows Harry's pride needs it, but mostly because it's just not worth rowing over. Even though Harry doesn't eat much, he does offer up genuine praise over Eggsy's cooking. Eggsy beams at that, but then his face falls when Harry almost immediately adds, "Although I wouldn't have paired a red with these prawns."

"What," he says defensively. "I thought you liked this one."

"I do," Harry says with a glance at the wine bottle. "But it isn't the most appropriate choice for this meal."

Eggsy shrugs. "Didn't know that, did I?"

Dinner turns into another lesson then, this one on what wine to serve with various meals. Eggsy doesn't mind too much -- he's a proper gentleman now, ain't he, and this is information he's supposed to have at his fingertips. And when Harry gets going, talking about a subject he has extensive knowledge of, he practically shines. His uneasiness over dinner falls away. His eyes light up and his gestures become more expansive, truly pleased to be sharing what he knows.

He's so fucking beautiful, and he doesn't even know it.

And Eggsy knows then, as he's known from the start, that he would absolutely do it all over again. He would steal that money and he would meet with Charlie and get that flash drive. He will do whatever it takes to keep Harry safe, to keep him here like this, candlelight reflected in his warm brown eyes and a wineglass in his strong hands.

They've just started on the chocolate cake he bought for pudding when he hears the quiet tone coming from Harry's glasses. Eggsy doesn't say anything, but he watches as Harry taps the frames, activating them. "Yes?"

At this hour it's probably Caradoc on the other end. Eggsy watches as Harry listens, looking for any change in his expression, any little gesture, something that might reveal what he's hearing.

But of course there is nothing. Harry simply says, "I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can." There is no sense of urgency in his voice, nor does he appear concerned. He looks up at Eggsy. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"We're going to HQ?" Deliberately he uses the "we", even though he already knows what the answer is.

"I'm sorry," Harry says again. "The call was just for me."

 _Fuck that_ , Eggsy nearly says. He has to bite down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep his temper in check. He takes a deep breath and says, "So what is it? Everything okay?"

"I'm not sure," Harry says. He sets his napkin on the table and stands up.

Eggsy stands up, too. He could argue, tell Harry he's coming along and that's not up for debate, could do all that shit. But he's too aware of the cool silences that still fall between them, the way Harry refuses his touch in the middle of the night after he's woken from yet another nightmare about the church.

As much as it kills him, he's got to let this one go. He's got to accept that Harry will tell him what all this is about when the time is right.

Trust works both ways, after all.

Acting like it's nothing, like it doesn't bother him to be left behind, he asks, "Is it Charlie? Did they find him?"

"I don't know," Harry says.

Eggsy just stares at him. He knows Harry is lying. It's gotta be Charlie. Why else would Harry suddenly drop everything and return to HQ at this hour? He's got no missions going, nothing else happening but the search for Charlie. How can he think that Eggsy wouldn't know what he's doing?

But then, he's certainly got no room to talk when it comes to keeping secrets. It was his lies, his secrecy, that led them to where they are right now.

Still keeping it casual, he asks, "Anything I can do?"

"I'm afraid not," Harry says. "Not until I know more." He starts to turn away, then stops. He takes a breath. "I'm very sorry, Eggsy. Dinner was lovely. Thank you very much." He drops his gaze and studies the tablecloth. "Though I may not be very good at accepting 'fuss' aimed in my direction, I do appreciate it nonetheless."

It's a crappy speech, made even worse by how formal he sounds, but Eggsy is warmed by it anyway. He knows how hard it is for Harry to admit when he needs something, mostly because he's the exact same way himself. Nowadays it's got to be even harder for Harry to submit to having someone fuss over him, especially when that fucking video has left him feeling so vulnerable.

So Eggsy takes the apology -- because that's really what it is -- and he nods. "Good. And you better get fucking used to it. Cause there's more where that came from."

For half a second Harry looks almost alarmed. Then he's back in control of himself, smiling that fond little smile that never fails to make Eggsy's heart miss a beat. "I suppose I shall have to."

Right then and there, Eggsy almost forgives him for keeping his secret. Almost.

"I'll be in touch when I can," Harry says. He turns and walks away, and Eggsy remembers where he's going and why, and hardens his heart again.

He doesn't try to stop Harry from leaving, not even with a kiss good-bye. But he swears to himself that when Harry gets back, he's going to find out what happened. 

He's not going to stop until he has the truth.


	6. In Spite of Everything

"The Bahamas. It's so clichéd," Harry says with distaste.

"Yes," Merlin replies. "I'm embarrassed to admit that's why it took us so long to turn our attention in that direction."

At this hour of the night, they have the library to themselves. Most of the lights are off except for the gooseneck desk lamp at their cubicle; the pool of light it casts is cosy and inviting, and exactly the opposite of what Harry wants right now. A moment such as this deserves cold light shining down from above, a brilliant glare that leaves nowhere to hide. Instead he has this moment here, sitting with arms crossed beside Merlin in a cubicle upholstered in Kingsman tartan. After days of relentless searching, it seems terribly anticlimactic.

"Clever of him to travel to Ireland before booking a flight," Merlin says. He doesn't take his eyes off the screen, where a single face is frozen in place from when the facial recognition software finally made a hit, picking Charlie's face out of the crowd at Shannon Airport.

"I expect he knew that," Harry says. "Bought himself some time."

"Don't give him too much credit," Merlin says dryly.

But why not? As far as Charlie is concerned, his plan worked. He successfully blackmailed a Kingsman agent. He got the money he wanted and until today, he had got away with it.

"You'll have to send me there, of course," Harry says. "Do we have any missions in that area?" He's shamefully behind on current affairs at Kingsman, having spent all of his time lately trying to track down Charlie; he had even foregone his usual round of pints and grumbling with Alistair earlier this week.

"We don't, although the Americans do," Merlin answers. He finally turns away from the computer and looks at Harry. "But if you'll recall they don't exactly like to share territory. Especially with you."

Ah yes. The Pentagon assignment. As ungentlemanly as it might be, Harry can't help a tiny smirk from tugging at his lips. Even years later Statesman still holds a grudge over that, annoyed that he had gone undercover in their government institution instead of one of their own.

"Well, needs must," he says brightly. "I'll get in touch with Ginger. We'll work something out."

Merlin doesn't miss a beat. "And what exactly do you plan to do when you get there?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something," Harry says tartly.

"I'm sure you will. Thus you can see why I'm worried," Merlin says. He reaches for his cup of tea although he doesn't drink from it, merely cradles the cup in one hand.

Harry gives him a look, but chooses not to dignify that with a response. "I'll need something to tell Eggsy." He wishes he could have been alone when he received the news that they had found Charlie, but what's done is done. Eggsy hadn't stopped him from leaving, but he had obviously known something was up, quite probably guessing correctly that his sudden disappearance has everything to do with Charlie.

Now that he's away from the house and the surprise dinner, Harry can admit that he reacted badly to the whole thing. He knows he didn't handle it well, but looking back on the evening, he's not sure what he could have done differently. He came home feeling so tired he wanted nothing more than an early night and the possibility of an unbroken night's sleep. Instead he had been utterly astonished to discover Eggsy had gone to the trouble of making an enormous dinner.

He doesn't know how much of Eggsy's behaviour tonight was motivated by genuine affection or lingering guilt over the theft and subsequent betrayal of trust -- and frankly it's not a question he desires an answer to.

Since they've been together, he's been oddly ambivalent towards Eggsy's doting on him. Some days it rankles, his pride and independent nature finding it all too stifling. Other times he's touched by how deeply Eggsy cares, and finds himself feeling strangely safe, in a way he can't really explain. There has never been anyone like Eggsy in his life before. Nor will there ever be again. Eggsy is unique.

And Harry loves him with all his heart. But tonight was just too much. He is still sleeping poorly, still has no appetite. He feels like he's clinging to a clifftop by his fingertips –- and he's slipping. He needs to keep busy, to stay in control of what's going on around him. He should have been the one making dinner and cleaning the house, molding the world around him to fit what he wants it to be.

The alternative is sitting still and letting other people decide what he should be doing. The alternative is blood on his hands and broken pews, bodies on the floor and a buzz of hatred in his head.

A shudder jerks through him. He can't stop it, and of course Merlin sees. Rather than say anything about it, though, Merlin just says calmly, "I should think the truth would suffice."

Harry stares at him blankly for a second before he realizes that Merlin was just responding to his previous comment. "No," he says, annoyed that Merlin saw his moment of weakness. "This does not involve Eggsy."

One of Merlin's eyebrows rises ever so slightly. "That's funny, because I seem to remember it starting with him. And before you get all righteous and tell me you're going to end it, might I remind you that all solo missions must be approved beforehand?"

That's a low blow in more ways than one. It's certainly true that he is only here now because of Eggsy -- but Eggsy is only here because of James.

James, who was always stubborn and proud. His last official request, to investigate the kidnapping of the man who turned out to be Professor Arnold, had been denied by Chester King. In typical James fashion, he had gone and done it anyway, refusing to wear his glasses so no one would see what he was doing and order him to come home. He had successfully hidden his movements so well, in fact, that no one had even known anything was wrong until he missed three scheduled check-ins in a row. By the time a retrieval team retraced his steps and discovered the mountain cabin in Argentina, there was nothing left of him but a large pool of dried blood on the floor. James himself was forever gone.

It's a sobering reminder of what can happen when an agent doesn't follow protocol. But still Harry says, "I can handle Charlie Hesketh alone."

Merlin just nods, as though they both don't know that Arthur would never approve a solo mission for something that threatens the integrity of their entire organisation.

As if they both don't know that he's going anyway, whether it's sanctioned or not.

Maddeningly calm as ever, Merlin says, "I'm not so sure that's such a good idea."

"Fortunately, it doesn't matter what you think," Harry retorts. He knows he's being petulant and he doesn't care.

Far from taking offence, Merlin just says, "Then if I may make an observation."

"You may not," Harry answers, though he knows it's futile even as he says it.

As usual Merlin ignores him. "You're having a hard time accepting that Eggsy cares so much about you that he would rather try to steal a million pounds from you in secret than let someone hurt you. And your rather annoying pride is upset that you have no way to return the favour while simultaneously demonstrating that you are not in need of protection."

There are times when being friends with someone for over half one's life is a curse rather than a blessing. And this is definitely one of those times. Harry stares at Merlin and wants to throttle him.

Completely unperturbed, Merlin sips his tea and gazes at him over the rim of the china cup.

The cup is ridiculously dainty, and Harry suddenly finds himself thinking about James again, remembering when he had dropped one and the stewards had cut him off, even though Merlin himself had broken more of the prized cups than poor James. No more china for him, they had said. If he wanted tea he could bloody well bring in his own cups. Which James had done, bringing in the most gauche mugs he had been able to find and carrying them around all summer long, showing off the ugly things to anyone not quick enough to make a getaway before he could corner them.

Harry had watched all this without comment, but he hadn't been able to resist walking around with his own china cup, pleased that he had never been singled out for breaking one, preening with pri--

Fuck.

Maybe it's the memories of James, who would have liked Eggsy very much. Or maybe it's the old fear, unspoken but always there, that Eggsy will meet an equally mysterious and terrible end one day, and he won't know about it until it's too late. Whatever it is, Harry abandons his ego and looks frankly at Merlin. 

"All right, you made your point," he says. "Of course I'm not happy about the situation. And yes, I want to do something about it. Which is precisely why I can't say anything about it to Eggsy."

Merlin sets his teacup down on the desk beside his ubiquitous clipboard. "Isn't that why you're in this position in the first place? Because Eggsy didn't trust you enough to tell you the truth?"

Harry bristles at this. He can handle criticism leveled at himself. But for someone else, even Merlin, to criticise Eggsy is just not on. Especially when that criticism is so very wrong.

Before he can even open his mouth to refute such a ridiculous claim, however, Merlin continues on. "I might further point out that if you persist in handling this Hesketh affair by yourself, you're only demonstrating that you in turn don't trust Eggsy."

"Don't be absurd," Harry snaps. Then he shuts the hell up. Because they've finally come to it. The real question. The only one that matters.

Can he still trust Eggsy?

This isn't the first time he and Merlin have had this kind of discussion; he's been leaning on Merlin since the day he and Eggsy met with Arthur. But this is the first time Merlin has finally stopped being completely sympathetic, and come out and asked the all-important question.

Harry looks away, deliberately turning aside from china cups and clipboards, tailored jumpers and a smirking face frozen on an airport security camera. He can't be a Kingsman right now. He has to be just Harry Hart, just one man hopelessly in love with another man.

It's been six days since he learned that Eggsy stole from him. Five days since he saw the video of himself in the church and the truth came out. Since then nothing has felt right, as though the world has been upended around him and he's still trying to make sense of it. Only Eggsy has remained constant -- but Eggsy is the source of his current misery.

Yet he's never stopped loving Eggsy. Of that he is certain.

He hasn't felt the need to check up on Eggsy's whereabouts since the class with Bors. There is that much to be grateful for. Earlier today when Eggsy sent the selfie from Westminster Bridge, he hadn't even realised at first what the picture was intended to prove. Then when it hit him that Eggsy was sending proof that he was where he was supposed to be, hard at work for Kingsman, he hadn't known how to respond. Because as shameful as it was to admit, he had been glad to see that picture.

Even now Harry clenches his jaw with humiliated anger. He's told Eggsy repeatedly that he understands, that he knows why Eggsy did it. If that is true -- and he believes it is -- it's well past time he started acting like it.

He's glad now that the only light comes from the small lamp, that there are enough shadows in the cubicle that he can imagine it's possible to hide. "I've been behaving like an ass."

"Yes, you have." Despite the words, though, Merlin sounds sympathetic. "Although not without reason." He reaches for his teacup, although the tea itself has surely gone cold by now.

The movement, caught out of the corner of Harry's eye, arrests his attention and has him immediately on alert. But the rising alarm is only a shadow of what it has been these past few days. Here at Kingsman he is completely safe and he knows it. And he is in the company of his oldest friend, the only person in this world he ever trusted before Eggsy came into his life. In the space of a single heartbeat, he is relaxed again, the jolt of fear already gone.

Fortunately he's able to hide his knee-jerk reaction. He turns toward Merlin smoothly, as though he intended this move all along. "Nevertheless," he says.

Merlin holds the teacup in one large hand but does not drink. "It's really quite simple. Do you trust Eggsy?"

Harry does not look away this time. He hasn't dared to say this out loud in their previous conversations, but tonight it must be said. There will never be another time, because after tonight, he vows, they will never speak of this again. "Perhaps I shouldn't."

Merlin blinks. "Please explain this absurdity."

Undaunted by this response, Harry does his best. "We are spies, in case you had forgotten. We aren't meant to trust. It's what makes us so good at our job."

Merlin considers him thoughtfully; obviously he can't argue with this. The silence draws out between them, encouraging him to go on. Nonetheless Harry holds his tongue, unwilling to say more and discover that he's talked himself out of the one thing he wants more than anything.

"Do you know why I never wound up with anyone?" Merlin finally asks.

This sudden detour into intimate matters is rather alarming. Harry can't resist the chance to try and keep things more light-hearted. Any joke, even an ill-considered one, is better than talking about those other things. "Besides the fact that you're a cantankerous old bastard?"

"Besides that obvious fact, yes," Merlin says dryly. He hesitates, then says, "It's because I can't do what you've done with Eggsy. You were able to let him in, in spite of everything. So for fuck's sake don't shut him out." He shakes his head, years of quiet regret shining in his eyes. "Don't be like me, Harry."

Harry slowly breathes out. Some type of gesture is called for here, but he honestly doesn't know how to respond to that. For as long as they have been friends, it's still unusual for them to talk so frankly of things so deeply emotional. Had they met under other circumstances, perhaps things might have been different, but they did not. They simply are who they are. 

Still, he tries. "I don't know," he says with an attempt at a smile. "You're not so bad for a cantankerous old bastard."

Merlin smiles back, but it's more rueful than amused. But he makes an effort, too, to leave the emotion behind. "You're only saying that because you know I can kill you."

"That doesn't make it any less true," Harry says stoutly. "Now." He stands up and adjusts his jacket, although it hardly needs it. Fussing with his cuffs gives him something to look at though, instead of his old friend's face. "I should go home. There are things I need to do." He thinks about Eggsy at home, no doubt waiting up for him, fuming at being left behind. "Things I need to say."

"Then I'll let you get to it." Merlin rises to his feet. There is a terribly awkward moment when Harry suddenly wonders if they should embrace and somehow reaffirm their friendship, then Merlin picks up his clipboard and the moment is gone.

"I'll go with you, actually," Merlin says. "Caradoc has things under control here. She can do without me for a few hours."

"I'm surprised you remember where your house is," Harry offers as they walk from the library.

"Some days it's a struggle," Merlin says wryly. He raises his teacup to his lips, then lowers it again with a faint grimace. 

Harry smiles again, this time with genuine amusement.

Together they walk through the halls at HQ, heading for the shuttle that will take them back to London. They don't meet anyone else, and all too quickly Harry remembers that he ought to be focused on his goal of taking out Charlie Hesketh.

"I know I've already asked you," he says, "but is there anything else about Charlie you can tell me?"

Merlin's eyebrow shoots up again. "Apart from the things I've already told you?"

Harry frowns. Test results and skill reports tell him about the recruit, not the man himself. "What about anything to do with him and Eggsy?" he asks.

They round the corner and walk toward the workstation where Merlin sometimes sits as he guides Kingsman agents through their delicate missions. The screens are dark tonight, only the gently rotating K indicating that they are powered on. Merlin barely glances at them as he walks past, although he does pause long enough to set his teacup down on his desk.

"I paired them up whenever I could," he says. "I suppose I thought they could learn how to work together. That's something I wanted them all to learn. How to work with people you may not necessarily like. That's not just life as a Kingsman; that's just life." Merlin sighs. "Or maybe I was just trying to get Charlie to get his head out of his arse."

Even though he's pretty sure he already knows the answer, Harry says, "And did it work?"

Merlin gives him a look. "You tell me."

"Did Eggsy ever provoke him?" Harry asks. As an agent, he has access to the videos of the recruits' training sessions, but he's never availed himself of the opportunity. He saw everything he needed to see when he watched Eggsy take down Gazelle and Valentine. After that, anything else is just extraneous.

But he finds that he's curious about Eggsy's training. They've never really talked about it, not even on the night Eggsy spent with him before the dog test. Harry can't help but wonder now what was it like for him. How difficult was it for Eggsy to spend so much time with people who despised him for not being like them?

"Not at all," Merlin says. "He kept his head down. He was there to learn, to get that job."

Harry says nothing to this, but pride swells in his chest. At their very first meeting in the Black Prince, Eggsy had demonstrated that he had no qualms about defending himself when he thought he was being attacked. Yet he had kept his peace during training, endured Charlie's abuse and proved that he was not only a Kingsman but a gentleman.

Oblivious to this, Merlin keeps going. "And when he wasn't in class, he was with you."

Startled, Harry blurts, "What?"

Merlin gives him a patiently amused look. "He spent every chance he had down in Medical with you, trying to get you to wake up. Talking to you, because he'd heard that coma patients could still hear what was being said to them. Arthur said I wasn't supposed to let him down there, but he wasn't doing any harm, and I thought there was even a chance it might work and you would wake up. So I permitted it."

 _Every chance he had._ And he never knew. Well, he had known Eggsy visited him while he was in the coma, but he hadn't realised the depth of Eggsy's devotion.

Even back then, Eggsy had loved him beyond all reason.

Harry leans back in his seat. Oddly enough he finds himself thinking about that delicate china teacup, the one James never had the chance to break, the one Merlin set down on the desk before they boarded the shuttle. It will sit there all night, and in the morning perhaps a steward will find it and take it to the kitchen. More likely Merlin will take it there himself, just another part of his solitary daily routine.

Whereas Harry will return with Eggsy, the way he does every day. He will get to spend the day pleasantly anticipating when they meet up for lunch. He will get to hear Eggsy talk about what happened during his day, and share what he did as well. And when they are done trying to save the world for the day, they will sit here on this very train and go home together.

 _You were able to let him in, in spite of everything._ Merlin hadn't used the word "lucky", but he hadn't needed to. Harry knows it's true. He _is_ lucky he found Eggsy, that Eggsy got past his defenses with such ridiculous ease. Lucky that Eggsy is still here, still in love with him in spite of South Glade Mission Church and V-Day and everything that came after.

London suddenly seems very far away.

He shifts restlessly, uncrossing his legs, then crossing them again the other direction. The train whisks them along toward the shop, but it's still far too slow. He wants to be home now. He wants to see Eggsy again.

He has to put things right between them. It won't be easy, but he's ready to try.

The alternative, driving Eggsy away and losing him forever, is simply unthinkable.

****

The lights are still on when he rounds the final corner and home comes into view. Eggsy must still be up, no doubt planning to pounce on him the moment he walks inside and demand to know what's going on.

As he has every right to.

The house is quiet; the scent of their dinner still lingers in the air. Eggsy is in the living room, feet tucked beneath him as he sits on the couch, playing a game on his phone. As Harry walks in, he swipes the game away and drops his phone on the cushion beside him. The silence that takes the place of the game's inanely cheerful music seems very loud.

Eggsy doesn't ask. He just looks up at Harry, expectant but determined.

And Harry does not make him wait. "They found Charlie."

"I fucking knew it," Eggsy says, low and triumphant. Everything is forgiven then; it's there in his open expression, his body language as he gets off the couch. "Where is he?"

"In the Bahamas," Harry says.

Eggsy makes a face. "Bit cliched, innit?"

Harry permits himself a small smile. "I said the same thing."

For a moment a grin blazes on Eggsy's face and they are two co-conspirators sharing a secret. He is so beautiful then, so full of light and life that Harry feels a pang in his chest. Then Eggsy sobers up again. "So what do we do? I mean, we're going after him, right?"

This natural pause in the conversation, while Eggsy waits for him to answer, is the perfect place for Harry to state his apology. All during the train ride to Savile Row he tried to imagine what he might say, but now that the time has come, the words are hard to find.

"Eggsy," he starts. Immediately he notices the way Eggsy tenses up, no doubt expecting him to say he can't come along on the mission.

This further proof of the damage to their relationship only makes him angry. They've done it to themselves, yes, but none of this would have happened if Charlie Hesketh hadn't forced the issue.

Only just then he doesn't give a shit about Charlie, or even Kingsman. He only cares about Eggsy, and putting things right.

"I owe you an apology," he says. "I should have told you when Merlin contacted me. We should have been there together tonight."

Eggsy looks both relieved and ashamed at the same time, a combination that somehow makes him seem older than his years. "Yeah, you should've," he says quietly.

Harry accepts the rebuke as nothing more than his due. "It's been difficult for me to trust you this week," he says. He knows the words hurt -- and indeed Eggsy flinches a little -- but they must be said. Only then can he make amends for them. "But I don't want that to be the case anymore. I want you to know…"

He stops, floundering and almost stammering, beyond irritated with himself. In his role as a spy over the years he's been able to talk any number of people into doing what he wants them to do. But in this, a simple explanation of his heart, he can't seem to find even a single word that's right.

Even when his words have been meant to deceive, though, it's always been best to keep them simple. Complicated cover stories and lies are harder to remember, and can lead to greater problems. And so though Eggsy is not a mark and this is not a mission, Harry falls back gratefully on tradecraft. It is, after all, the thing he knows best.

"I went to Kingsman tonight with the intention of confronting Charlie myself," he says. "I thought to spare you from further dealing with him." He smiles a little. "It seems you aren't the only one who makes terrible decisions in the name of love."

Eggsy laughs, although there isn't much humour in the sound.

Harry slowly walks toward him. "And I love you, Eggsy. And I do trust you, something that isn't easy for me. It may take me some time to get to where we were before, but I think we can do it."

Eggsy nods, his eyes brimming. "Yeah," he whispers.

"So to answer your question," Harry says. He stops in front of Eggsy, who tips his face up expectantly. "Yes, we are going to the Bahamas." He leans down and kisses Eggsy.

Eggsy leans into him at once, opening his mouth to the kiss and wrapping both arms around Harry. In return Harry holds him close, aching all over at the thought of how near he came to losing this forever.

He spoke the truth when he said it wouldn't be easy. But with Eggsy in his arms, it doesn't seem like it will be too difficult, either.

Eggsy hides his face in the crook of Harry's neck. "I thought we was…" He doesn't finish.

"I know," Harry says. "So did I." He's terribly afraid Eggsy might be crying.

But when Eggsy lifts his head, his eyes are dry. He leans backward, and Harry lets him go. The moment of crisis has passed. They will circle back here again, of course, before all is said and done. But for now they are able to move on -- and at last they can truly do so together.

"So," Eggsy says. He takes another couple steps back, enough to put them at a comfortable distance for regular conversation again. "What's the plan then? Are we leavin' tonight?"

"Tomorrow morning will be soon enough," Harry says. He's glad for that, too. Sometimes things are just too critical and an abrupt departure cannot be avoided. That's one of the reasons he's always lived alone; fewer loose ends to tie up, fewer strained cover stories to explain a sudden absence. In his youth there was an element of excitement to it all, dashing off at a moment's notice to go save the world, but all in all, he much prefers it the other way around. It's always far better to have the time to go into things fully prepared, rather than rushing off half-cocked.

Not to mention the chance it gives him to spend a little more time at home with Eggsy. "I imagine this mission will remain off the books, but Arthur still needs to approve it first."

Eggsy nods. He's never been part of a true black op before, but he doesn't ask any questions about it. "And tonight?"

There isn't much left of "tonight" in point of fact, but Harry doesn't hesitate. "Tonight I'm going to take you upstairs and fuck you."

Eggsy catches his breath.

"Unless you had a better idea," Harry offers.

A slow grin spreads over Eggsy's face. "Well," he says. "I was gonna suggest we finish our pudding, since we got interrupted before, but…" He lets the word dangle there.

The very thought of food makes Harry's stomach turn. Quickly, before Eggsy can say anything else, he says, "Why don't we bring it up with us?"

Startled, Eggsy blinks. Then he grins again. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah." He starts toward the kitchen, then stops. "Wait. You serious?"

"Of course I am," Harry says instantly, even though there are a dozen reasons why they shouldn't. Food in bed is very messy. They are on the clock now, needing an early start in the morning, but if they do this they'll have to stay up late, showering and cleaning themselves up. Unless one of them wants to stay up even later, there won't be time for a proper clean-up of the bedroom. They'll be lucky if they don't come back from the Bahamas to find ants have taken over the house.

But he loves Eggsy, and he would do anything to keep that bright smile on Eggsy's face. And with both Eggsy and the cake in bed, he won't be expected to eat any of it or make excuses when he can't. It's a win all-around, and he's not sorry that he thought of it.

Besides, he finds that he really _does_ want to discover Eggsy tastes like with his cock coated in chocolate icing.

Eggsy's joyous grin could power all of London. "Fuck yeah," he breathes.

The cake is in the fridge, along with the leftovers from their dinner. It's small, meant for only two people; even with just two slices missing, it's already half gone. Chocolate ganache covers the chocolate cake inside, and two beautiful rosettes of chocolate sit atop the remaining half. There are even finely veined leaves around the flowers, thin layers of chocolate just begging to be snapped off and eaten.

Harry grabs a handful of napkins and sets them on top of the cake box. He feels a bit foolish, but also too stubborn to put the cake back and admit this is maybe not such a good idea.

Certainly Eggsy doesn't seem to have any second thoughts. He practically bounces up the stairs, still alight with anticipation.

Harry's misgivings drain away then. He's always been helpless in the face of those bright smiles, the ones which came so rarely when they first knew each other. And after the past week, when it seemed like they might never truly smile at each other again, he knows now that he will always do anything to see Eggsy happy like this.

"So whatcha planning to do with that then?" Eggsy asks as he unbuttons his shirt. He glances at the cake, then looks expectantly back at Harry.

"You'll see," Harry says in his most innocent voice.

He's rewarded with another brilliant grin.

In no time at all they're both naked, Eggsy stretched out on the bed beside him. Harry leans down to give him a kiss -- and a small piece of cake. Eggsy accepts it eagerly, closing his mouth over Harry's fingers, licking and nibbling at the icing. When Harry kisses him again, he tastes of chocolate.

Delicately he lifts one of the rosettes from atop the cake. He's aware of the way Eggsy's gaze follows it, but he doesn't look up. He just carefully sets the rosette on the dimple of Eggsy's navel.

"Fuck!" Eggsy exclaims. "That's fucking cold!" The muscles of his stomach jump and twitch. He half-rises off the bed before falling back.

"I know," Harry says. "But I hope you will leave it there."

"Yeah?" Eggsy clutches a handful of the sheets, then releases them. "What happens if I don't?"

"Then that would be a shame," Harry says. He reaches into the box and breaks off another piece of cake.

"You're a cruel man, Harry Hart," Eggsy says.

"Yes, I know," Harry agrees, and feeds him the cake.

This time Eggsy sucks hard on his fingers, swirling his tongue around meaningfully, staring deep into Harry's eyes. The heat and the wetness go straight to Harry's cock, and he starts to take more of an interest in the proceedings.

He kisses Eggsy, tasting sweet chocolate, then presses a sticky kiss to Eggsy's throat beside his mole. Another kiss to his collarbone, then the hollow of his throat. He moves down, careful not to dislodge the rosette resting on Eggsy's navel, trailing sticky-sweet kisses as he goes.

Eggsy's hand rises; his fingers tangle in Harry's hair. He's already hard, his skin starting to flush all over. Beads of moisture appear on the rosette as it begins to melt from the heat of contact. He squirms a little on the sheets, and Harry smiles as he nuzzles the soft skin of Eggsy's stomach.

Startled into laughter, Eggsy's movement this time nearly dislodges the rosette. "No fair tickling!" he gasps.

Harry relents and sits up. He resists the urge to touch himself, and instead feeds Eggsy another bite of cake. There's an urgency now in the way Eggsy sucks on his fingers, an irresistible pull that Harry finds more distracting with each repetition.

Eggsy's tongue wraps around his forefinger, making obscene wet noises. Harry permits this for another moment before pulling free. He takes a second to observe the shining moisture on his finger, and be certain there are no stray cake crumbs. "Well done," he says. Then he reaches down and slides his still-wet finger deep into Eggsy's body.

Eggsy reacts with a gratifying hiss. His whole body quivers in delighted shock. The melting rosette on his navel twitches, but stays put.

"Very well done," Harry murmurs. He curls his finger inward, gently stroking.

"Ah fuck," Eggsy groans. He grabs at Harry's arm. With his other hand he reaches for his cock, but then he stops.

"Go on," Harry encourages. "I like to watch you touch yourself. Just don't lose that chocolate." He strokes again with his finger, eliciting another lovely sound from Eggsy's throat.

Eggsy gives him a glare, but it's half-hearted at best.

Fascinated, Harry watches Eggsy's hand glide over his cock. He knows the weight and feel as intimately as his own.

"That's it," he says. He finally surrenders and gives himself a few pulls, a too-brief touch that does little for the aching need in him. Then he's reaching for the small jar of lube, scooping some out and applying it to the middle finger of his right hand.

Eggsy sees this and nods. His hips twitch upward. "Yeah."

Harry doesn't disappoint him. He slides a second finger in, and Eggsy utters another deep groan. The motion of his hand stutters, his thumb pressed against the head of his cock. He clenches tight on Harry's fingers buried in his arse, a slick heat that Harry wants very badly to feel on his cock.

But he waits, straining his already-fraying patience. He lets Eggsy establish the rhythm, hand moving up and down his cock. Then he joins in, sliding his fingers in and out in perfect counterpoint.

Eggsy tosses his head. His skin is deeply flushed. Moisture glistens on the tip of his cock. He is achingly beautiful, legs spread wide, lips parted.

His hand moves faster, and Harry matches the pace, twisting his fingers and driving them in deep. Eggsy writhes beneath him and at last comes with a ragged inhalation.

Harry lets him catch his breath. But he doesn't remove his fingers just yet. He picks up the melted chocolate rosette and trails it through the liquid pooled on Eggsy's stomach.

Eggsy doesn't hesitate. He opens his mouth and sucks on the chocolate, his own come, and Harry's fingers with wanton greed.

"All of it now," Harry murmurs. He shifts on the bed, having at last reached the end of his patience.

There's still some chocolate on his fingers as he dips them in the jar of lube; they'll have to throw it out. But that's completely insignificant right now.

Now is for pushing slowly into the heat of Eggsy's body. Now is Eggsy wrapping one leg around him and holding him close. Now is the taste of chocolate and salt on Eggsy's lips.

Now is moving, driving deep with each thrust, looking down into Eggsy's ever-changing eyes. Now is Eggsy's hands roaming over his back and shoulders, clinging possessively.

Now is knowing that he loves Eggsy and Eggsy loves him.

****

_They fall faster now as there are fewer of them, as they kill each other. He hates them for that, for denying him the chance to kill them._

_To punish them, he moves more quickly through the dance of death, killing them brutally, ruthlessly, with no thought or heed for the consequences. They cannot be allowed to kill each other. Only he is allowed to end their pathetic lives._

_He spins from the still-falling corpse of his last kill, lunges for the next. The knife in his hand flashes redly. Blood spatters the air; its taste is hot and coppery on his tongue._

_This body falls too. He turns, seeking another._

_And there is his next target. A young man in a pinstriped suit eerily similar to his own. A young man with ever-changing eyes and blood on his face. A young man who is running for him, teeth bared in a feral snarl, as eager to kill him as Harry is to end his life._

_He darts forward, already anticipating his next kill—_

He wakes with a jolt, a cry of horrified denial trapped behind his teeth. He throws back the covers and is off the bed in moments, already scanning the room for any threats that might be hidden in the shadows. It's a reflexive reaction, however, done without even thinking about it.

What he's really thinking is that he needs to get as far away from Eggsy as possible. If he should ever hurt Eggsy while in this state, part of him still in that church, he would never forgive himself.

By the time he reaches the office, he is calmer. His step is steady as he goes inside the darkened room, although his heartrate is still too fast. But he's been here before. He knows this routine -- only too well.

He starts in the corner, with that very first one, yellowing and dried up by now. One by one he stands in front of those _Sun_ headlines and consciously recalls everything he can about each mission. It's a form of mental discipline, something he does to keep himself sharp. But it's also a way to further calm himself, a reminder that even though bad things may have happened to go along with that particular headline, he still won. He succeeded. It's why the paper is hanging there at all. The memories, and the nightmares they spawn, have no power over him.

It was a routine he had in place long before Eggsy, before the church. And it didn't take long before Eggsy knew to come here any time he woke up to find himself alone in their bed. And so it happens now, tentative footsteps approaching from down the hall, giving him warning -- and time to collect himself.

"You okay?" Eggsy asks. He lingers in the doorway, a shadowy figure unsure if he should come in.

It would be easy to lie. He's certainly done it before. Tonight, though, Harry lacks the stomach for it. He turns away from the V-Day headline and looks at Eggsy. "I'm not sure," he says honestly.

Eggsy doesn't say anything right away. One day he'll have his own routine, his own way of dealing with the nightmares, the regrets, the thoughts that thrive under cover of darkness. Harry would like to shield him from all that, but there is nothing to be done. This is part of the life they chose. There is no hiding from it.

Still in the doorway, Eggsy says, "You want something to drink?" He makes a gesture with his thumb down the hall, offering to fetch whatever Harry might like.

The offer is tempting, but they have to be on a plane in a few hours. Alcohol might help him sleep, but it will also mean starting a new mission already at a disadvantage, his thoughts not as clear and sharp as they need to be.

No, what he wants is not something Eggsy can give him. At least, not here, not tonight. It's only something they can do together. And it starts tomorrow.

Knowing that they are at last taking steps to end what has become a waking nightmare is a tremendous relief. Harry is quite calm as he says, "No, thank you." He starts walking forward.

Eggsy backs off, but waits for him. When Harry emerges into the hall, Eggsy reaches out with one hand and rubs his arm in a comforting gesture.

Together they go back to bed.


	7. Sun and Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone familiar with Nassau. Online research will only get you so far in terms of realism.

Arthur approves their mission -- not that there was much doubt that she would. Statesman rather grudgingly hands over some details of the mission one of their agents is currently working on. It's determined that there shouldn't be any danger of their two missions crossing each other; the Statesman agent is on another island, and there is no known connection between Charlie Hesketh and the Americans' target.

Eggsy phones his mum and tells her he's got to go away on business, a client in Greece needs a tailor. She isn't happy about it, but she doesn't try to argue. She just wishes him well, agrees to take care of JB while he's gone, and reminds him to text when he can.

These types of calls always make him feel guilty; Eggsy hangs up and shoves his phone deep in his pocket. "Fuck."

Harry looks over at him. "Everything all right?"

"One of these days I'm gonna have to tell her," Eggsy says. It's not the first time he's said it.

"But not today," Harry says, and it's not the first time he's said that, either.

Eggsy sits back in his seat. "No." 

They're on the Kingsman jet, already in the air an hour. He's pleasantly tired and sore from last night; depending on how long it takes them to plot things out, he reckons he might use the long flight to grab some sleep.

Better than his physical well-being, though, is the feeling that things have finally been set right between him and Harry. The issues he created when he stole that money and lied to Harry have largely been resolved. They are together again in every way that matters.

And now they are assigned to what might well be the most important mission in Kingsman's history. Because if they fail, the entire organisation will bear the consequences.

If they fail, there may not _be_ a Kingsman anymore.

Eggsy refuses to think of that, though. They aren't going to fail. They're going to find Charlie and silence him, one way or another. They're going to get that video of what happened in South Glade Mission Church and destroy it forever.

They're going to win.

****

Their safe house is in Nassau, on the water. The house is a cool cream color, and there is a pool in the lanai. After the bitter chill of a London winter, the warm air hits Eggsy's nerves like a shot of adrenaline. He stands on the lanai and breathes in deep, letting the tropical breeze push at his hair; it smells of the ocean, inviting him to go for a swim.

"I'm definitely askin' for more missions in the Caribbean," he announces.

Harry steps onto the lanai; behind him, the sliding glass door stands open, letting the breeze into the house. "I'm afraid that request would be denied," he says.

"Yeah, well," Eggsy says. "Can't blame a bloke for trying."

"Indeed not." Harry walks over to the screen door that leads outside, to the green lawn of the backyard and the crisp blue water beyond. For a moment Eggsy thinks he means to go out there, and he readies himself to follow.

Instead Harry says, "We still have half the afternoon. We should use this time."

Eggsy nods. The flight was nearly ten hours, but thanks to time zones, it's only five hours later than when they left London. They would be perfectly within their rights to take the rest of the day to relax and unpack, rest up for the mission ahead.

But he gets it. Harry wants to get started right away. And Eggsy is restless, too, despite the lure of the tropical air and water. He's eager to confront Charlie again.

He wants to put it all behind them, once and for all. He suspects Harry feels the same way, an almost desperate need to _do_ something, to put the damn church behind him for good. But until they deal with Charlie, that fucking church will continue to haunt Harry's dreams and leave those shadows in his eyes. He _can't_ move on as long as the threat of exposure hangs over his head.

And though Eggsy was never there, not in person, sometimes he feels like he's trapped there too. Caught in that hot room with blood all over the floor and bodies lying in twisted heaps. Forever doomed to know what it feels like to lose control of himself and give in to his most primal urges.

One of these days he's going to dream about it himself. He knows it's only a matter of time.

He can't do anything about that. But he _can_ do something about Charlie. Fucking Charlie, who started this whole mess.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks.

They talked about it on the flight, creating plans that had seemed straightforward at the time. Now that they're here, though, Eggsy finds that he's unaccountably nervous. He almost wishes he could have found out Charlie's location on his own and come out here alone.

But that would have undone everything, would have only made things worse between them. Even Harry knows that; it's why he came back from HQ with an apology after trying to do the exact same thing.

No, they're doing this together.

"Rent a bicycle," Harry says. "Ride around town. I'll go for a walk."

Eggsy nods. Surveillance and data-gathering is the first step of any mission. They already know where Charlie lives. Now they just need to get as much information as they can. Charlie is new here, and must still be laying the foundations for his new life. They need to learn his schedule, where he goes and when, who he talks to and where, what he does with himself all day. And they need to do it all without attracting anyone's attention, or letting Charlie know that they are here.

Piece of cake.

"I'm gonna go get changed," he says. He brought a spare suit with him besides the one he's wearing now, but most of his clothes are meant for warm weather, the kinds of things an English tourist would wear.

Harry nods. He doesn't tell Eggsy to be careful, or watch himself, or anything like that. But Eggsy knows he's thinking it anyway.

****

The house where Charlie lives is within walking distance; nothing is too far away in Nassau. It's a mint green color, and the pool is larger than the one at the Kingsman safe house. A high fence surrounds the backyard, although the front lawn is open and accessible from the street. The windows are open but the blinds are drawn, allowing no view of the interior of the house.

Eggsy rides by on his rented bicycle, snapback on his head, his legs English-pale beneath his shorts. He gives the house a cursory look as he goes past, no more, letting the glasses get a good view. But as he cycles past, he takes pictures with the camera nestled in his palm.

On the flight here, he and Harry agreed that Charlie will not be "persuaded" to tell them where he has the video except by the most dire of coercions. It's an ugly side of being a Kingsman, the side no one really talks about, the part of the job Eggsy fortunately hasn't had to utilise yet.

He didn't say anything on the plane, but the truth is that he isn't at all sure he can torture Charlie. As much as he hates the man and everything he's already done and threatened to do in the future, some things remain beyond him. He knows Harry could do it, and sickeningly well, in fact, but that's one thing Eggsy desperately wants to spare him. There's already been too much violence, too much bloodshed. The last thing he wants is for Harry to win that way.

But if Charlie won't tell them where he's hidden the video, then they'll have to find it themselves. And they'll only get one chance at it. If their search fails, their only other option is to hope that Charlie himself will lead them to it.

Which is why one of Eggsy's tasks right now is to find a few good locations where they can set up security cameras. Hidden lenses he can aim at Charlie's house and yard in the hope of seeing something worthwhile. Already he's spotted a couple likely candidates, trees in the neighbors' yards, the top of the fence itself, tucked in a knothole where it won't be discovered. He takes pictures of those things too, cycles on down the road, and says, "Did you get all that?"

"Yes, I did," Merlin says. Despite being thousands of miles away, his voice is crisp and clear over the glasses. "Good work, Gawain."

Eggsy nods. He keeps on biking, turning the corner and heading around the block, intending to go down the street behind this one. He'd like to linger, stop with one foot on the pedals and one foot on the ground, take a long hard look at the house where Charlie lives. But he can't, of course. They have no idea where Charlie is right now. He could be at the beach flirting with pretty girls. Or at the supermarket buying beer. Or inside the house, peering through a slit in the blinds, watching anyone who goes by and shows more than a passing interest in his property.

Like Harry, he's more than ready to face Charlie and put this whole shitty affair behind them. But he also knows it won't be that easy. Nor will it be quick. There will be no race to the finish on this mission.

That's fine. Eggsy can deal with that. He learned caution from the best, knowing when it was safe to speak his mind and when opening his mouth would earn him a punch in the face and hands on his throat. He hadn't always _heeded_ that caution, it was true, but he had still recognised it.

So yeah. He can go slow, be discreet, all that. Better to do it that way and do it right, than try to rush things and fuck it all up.

Cause he's not ever doing this again. He's going to get that video back, find a way to silence Charlie, and make damn sure that Harry never has to worry about the rest of the world learning about what happened in South Glade Mission Church. If he can find a way to silence Harry's nightmares, too, that will be even better.

But he'll take what he can get.

The houses on the street behind Charlie's hamper his view of the mint green house. There's not much to see anyway, with the fence protecting the backyard. Still, he does notice that there is a gate in the fence near the back left corner, granting access to the back yard -- or letting someone who was inside leave through the gate without anyone watching the front of the house being any wiser.

It will be locked, of course, but lockpicking is one of Eggsy's specialties. It was even before he joined Kingsman.

He cycles on down the road, glancing around like he's curious about everything he sees, pale legs working up and down. At the end of the road is a breathtaking view of the beach and the ocean beyond it. He stops and braces the bike between his legs while he takes a few pictures on his phone, fully into his role as a tourist. He highly doubts anyone is watching, but he's not about to take any chances.

Quickly, while he's still thinking about it, he sends some of the pictures to Roxy. _Jealous much?_ He grins to himself while he waits for her response. Further away, waves roll up the beach and white birds circle the sand. In another world there would be time for him and Harry to go down there, slather each other with sunscreen and bask in the sun, go wading into the water, maybe set out for the far horizon in a long swim.

It won't happen now, of course. They have work to do. But it's still nice to daydream a little.

He glances down at his phone. It's been plenty of time, but there is no answer from Roxy yet. He's about to text her again when he remembers that she's in Croatia right now, on a dangerous mission of her own.

Annoyed with his forgetfulness, Eggsy puts his phone away and gets on the bike again. He looks around, checking for traffic -- but also to make sure no one is watching him. Then it's back to the safe house, still pretending to be interested in everything he sees. He rides up the driveway, coasts to a halt, and leans the bicycle against the garage wall.

Inside the house it's quiet; a breeze enters through the open windows, keeping the air nicely warm without being _too_ warm. Eggsy goes straight into the kitchen, where he finds Harry seated at the table with a laptop open in front of him.

"Here." He hands over the small camera. "Not sure if they're any good." Taking pictures while on the move is always a bit dicey.

"We'll soon see," Harry says. He plugs the camera into the laptop, then looks up. "Charlie isn't new to this neighbourhood. He's been living here since August."

Eggsy plunks down in the chair beside his. "What the fuck?" Not even a day on this mission and already everything he thought he knew about it has been proven wrong.

Harry doesn't even blink; behind his Kingsman specs he seems perfectly calm. "Charlie Hesketh bought his house on July 31st. He moved in on August 8th. He paid cash for the purchase, although the house is in his deceased brother-in-law's name. Which is, incidentally, why we didn't find it right away."

Eggsy shakes his head. "No way."

But Harry does not hesitate. While Eggsy was out making his tour of the neighbourhood, he was in here, using Kingsman's not-inconsiderable resources to do research. "He's very wealthy. As the sole survivor, he inherited all his family's money after V-Day." He pauses only slightly to cushion the blow of what he's about to say. "He never needed money from you, Eggsy."

Still more stunned than he has any right to be, Eggsy thinks back to that day just last week when he met Charlie in Kensington Gardens. He remembers how Charlie looked then, all scruffy and unshaven, wearing the same clothes he'd worn the previous day. Like he was homeless. Like he was destitute.

And all a lie.

"Yeah, well he looked like he did," he says. He's not trying to argue. He's just trying to understand.

"I have no doubt of that," Harry returns, cool and implacable. "But the fact remains, he didn't need any money."

He should have known, he realises. Charlie received the same training he did, after all. The same lessons about how to fill an assigned role, how to go undercover and play the part, how to deceive everyone around you. 

Charlie was the real Kingsman that day.

"Fuck!" he swears viciously. "And I fucking fell for it." He shoves himself back in his chair with one foot planted on the floor, thumping heavily against the wooden chair back. "Why? Why even bother with the woe-is-me act?"

"To fuck with you, I imagine," Harry replies.

"Yeah, well, it worked," Eggsy says sourly. He had fallen for it, all right, hook line and sinker.

"Charlie's deception was designed to make you do what he wanted," Harry says. "To prove he was the one in control of the situation. But that isn't the case anymore."

Eggsy looks up at him. It's not much comfort, but Harry is right. They have the element of surprise on their side; Charlie has no idea they're here. And they _will_ take that video back. They _will_ make sure he never speaks out about South Glade Mission Church or Kingsman or any of it.

"We'll be all right," Harry continues. He looks utterly sure of himself, and yet Eggsy sees the truth in the tight line of his jaw, hears it in the just-a-little-too-loud sound of his voice. Underneath his surface confidence, Harry is scared they'll fail, and that video of him in the church will be released.

 _Ain't gonna happen_ , Eggsy vows to himself. Everything he's done so far has been about protecting Harry. That sure as hell isn't going to change now.

He doesn't know how to say that out loud though, not without sounding like a complete knob, so he just shrugs like it don't mean anything. "Yeah," he says. "I know."

****

The safe house has two bedrooms, but one is larger than the other. That's the one they've claimed for themselves, their clothing packed away and hung up in the narrow closet. Their shaving kits sit on the bathroom counter next to their travel toothbrushes. The décor in both rooms is nautical-themed, framed pictures of boats and people having fun at the beach hanging on the walls. Eggsy is both amused and somewhat appalled. "This ain't a Holiday Inn."

Harry just shakes his head. "We're lucky to even have this. The house used to belong to Chester King's family."

Eggsy can't help it; his upper lip lifts in a reflexive moue of disgust upon hearing that name. "Great." He turns away, not wanting to know how Kingsman came to own the house, or hear about the myriad shell corporations and tangled bureaucratic webs that hide the agency's involvement in something as simple as owning property.

It's late, and it feels even later by his body clock; he's still on London time, five hours ahead. He yawns as he pulls back the covers and climbs into bed. He has a feeling he'll sleep well tonight.

Harry turns off the light and gets into bed beside him. For a while they shift about, getting comfortable in a strange bed. Eggsy can sleep pretty much anywhere, but he's distracted by the silhouettes of unfamiliar furniture and shadows in unexpected places.

"Good night," Harry says from his side of the bed.

"Night," Eggsy says. They roll toward each other and kiss briefly, sweet and chaste. A good night kiss, nothing more.

That's fine. He's perfectly content with that.

****

Movement wakes him, the dip and sway of the mattress as Harry gets up. Eggsy frowns and blinks sleepily, and then he hears the ragged edge in Harry's rapid breathing, and he's suddenly wide awake.

In the darkness, Harry is just a shadow moving somewhat unsteadily in the direction of the door. Eggsy sits halfway up. "You okay?"

In the silence that falls, he can practically feel the temperature in the room drop ten degrees. "Everything's fine," Harry says. "Go back to sleep." He can't conceal the tremor in his voice, though, and Eggsy hears him grip the footboard of the bed as he walks past. 

"You ain't fine," he says, sitting up all the way.

Harry doesn't respond. He just makes his way toward the bathroom, doing a pretty good job of finding it on the first try even in a dark, strange room. He goes swiftly inside, but in the moment when the cold light from the small room shines on his face, Eggsy can see just how upset he is.

"Fuck," he says under his breath. He wriggles out from under the covers and gets out of bed. He nearly walks into the nightstand, then manages to make it over to the light switch without bumping into anything or stubbing his toe on the strange furniture.

The sudden blast of light makes him blink unsteadily. He can hear water running in the bathroom. It's actually too much light, he realizes. Way too much.

Quickly, before Harry can come back out, he goes into the hall. He turns the light on in there, turns off the one in the bedroom, and nods in satisfaction at the dimmer lighting. It's plenty to see by, but now there are proper shadows in the corners. He gets back in bed, although he stays sitting up. He reaches up to try and flatten his messed-up hair and pulls the covers over his legs.

Now they can talk.

Harry emerges from the bathroom. He pauses for a moment when he sees Eggsy sitting up in bed, but then he keeps going.

He's headed for the hall, Eggsy realises. He's either going to the kitchen to get something to drink, or else he's going to turn out the light Eggsy just turned on and come back to bed like nothing happened.

"Stop," Eggsy says.

It actually works, which he didn't expect. Harry stops, standing still in the no-man's land between the bed and the door leading out to the hall. He's wearing his brown pajamas, the ones that emphasize the color of his eyes. His hair falls in loose curls, and his jaw is set. He's lost weight since he saw that fucking video; Eggsy is perfectly aware that he hasn't been eating.

"You okay?" he says.

"I'm fine," Harry replies. His voice is composed, that telltale quiver banished as though it was never there. "I'm sorry for waking you."

It's awkward as hell sitting here in bed, his chest bare like an invitation to a seduction. He wants to stand up and put them on equal footing. But he knows beyond a doubt that if he does, Harry will bolt. So since he's not about to let that happen, Eggsy stays put.

He might as well go for it. Things are only going to get worse, the longer it takes for them to finish this mission. And even that might not mean much. Shitty things don't just magically go away, as Eggsy well knows. They stay, forever a part of you, whether you want them to or not. 

"Was it the church?"

For a split second Harry's mask cracks, and Eggsy sees the anger and fear lurking beneath. Then it's back in place, and he's walking toward the hallway again.

"Harry stop!" He doesn't mean to yell, but it sounds really loud.

Harry keeps going though, stubborn as ever, and Eggsy finally loses his patience. He scrambles off the bed, but he doesn't go anywhere. He just stands there. "Would you just fucking talk to me!"

And finally Harry stops. He whips his head around to glare at Eggsy. "And what would you have me say?" He looks nearly as angry as he did the night he first confronted Eggsy about the video, that fucking video that started it all.

"I don't know!" Eggsy snaps back. "Something. _Any_ thing. Just quit acting like there's nothing wrong!"

"I suppose you'd prefer it if I were to throw myself at your feet," Harry says. "Beg forgiveness? Perhaps cry a little?"

"The fuck?" He's pissed off, and not just at Harry for being such a dick. He always thought that when they finally had this conversation, it would be nice and quiet-like, the two of them working together through the bad stuff. He never wanted it like this, full of such bitterness.

So he tries hard to gentle his voice, to not be so angry. "You know that's not what I meant."

"If you're expecting a full confession, I'm sorry to disappoint you," Harry says. The heat of anger is gone from his voice, but Eggsy isn't fooled one bit. Harry has simply retreated into that glacial calm he uses when he's seriously upset. "You'll just have to do without."

"Yeah, cause you're _fine_ ," Eggsy says, laying the sarcasm on thick.

Harry doesn't bother to reply. He just walks out, into the hallway.

"That's fucking bullshit and you know it," Eggsy calls after him as he follows close behind. "You can't even make it through the night without waking up from some nightmare about it. You really think I believe that you're--"

He stops then out of self-preservation. Harry still isn't speaking, but he's gone white with anger, and Eggsy has enough sense to be afraid. He knows Harry would never hit him or anything like that, but his past experiences aren't so lightly discarded.

"You have _no idea_ how I feel about what happened," Harry says, taut with anger and repressed emotion. Looking at him now, it's easy to believe he knows how to kill with only his bare hands. "Don't you _dare_ stand there and lecture me."

"You're right," Eggsy says, and the sad thing is, he honestly isn't angry anymore. He's not afraid, either. He feels sick with guilt over his role in all this, but mostly he just feels tired. He just wants all this to be over. "I _don't_ know. But we're supposed to trust each other. We're supposed to love each other. That means we tell each other things."

"Ah yes," Harry fires back. "The way you told me about Charlie."

Eggsy flinches. He's never going to stop regretting the way he handled that situation, but it's not fair for Harry to throw that in his face. Still, he supposes he deserves that one. "Harry, I love you so fucking much. Why do you think I didn't tell you? Why do you think I went along with that dickhead in the first place? It's because I _love_ you."

 _Because I wanted to protect you_ , he thinks. And then he stops, momentarily thrown for words. It's like the bedroom light is turned on again, the way he suddenly seems to see things a thousand times more clearer than before.

He can't believe he didn't realise this sooner. "Wait. Is that why you never talk to me about the church? Why you keep running away? You're trying to protect me?"

Harry looks like he's about to make a break for it. Eggsy's never really seen him scared before, but he is now. Harry is fucking terrified.

They stare at each other for a long moment, the space between them filling up with all the words they can't bring themselves to say. He knows now why Harry gets like this, why he acts like such a prick when he's cornered, why he might as well reach out with both hands and physically shove Eggsy away.

Fucking hell. They're both so very fucked up, aren't they? But the thing is, what he's known since even before their first kiss, is that he wouldn't know what to do if it wasn't like that for them. If they were "normal." Cause he might be fucked up, but Harry still loves him anyway. And Eggsy loves him back, fiercely, violently.

But standing there, torn between love and chagrin, he can't help fearing that even after everything they've already been through, they're still not going to make it.

During that endless time, standing there in the hall of this strange house, it's all in doubt. Anything is possible. But then he actually sees it, the moment when Harry surrenders, when he decides to stand his ground and put it all on the line.

"How could I tell you, and expect you to stay?" Harry whispers. 

Eggsy's heart breaks. The pain steals his breath away. There's a thousand things he ought to say right now: reassurances, promises, even half-hearted attempts at humor. Instead all he manages is a weak, "Oh fuck. Harry."

"I know you watched it all happen," Harry says. There is a fatalistic weight to his voice Eggsy has never heard before. He didn't even sound like that when he stood under that Kentucky sun, facing Valentine and certain death. "But I didn't remember most of it before. I could tell myself it wasn't as bad as I thought. It couldn't be, if you were still here."

Only now he knows better. Now he knows the truth. He was forced to see it all. Not only that, he's had to live with the threat of exposure, of the entire world seeing it, too.

It's enough to make Eggsy want to grab his gun and march over to Charlie's pretty little mint green house and shoot him in the face right then and there.

But that's impossible. So he does the only thing he can do. He walks toward Harry, who tenses up as though a part of him expects to be struck. "I would never leave you over something like that," he vows. "I won't ever leave you at all."

Harry just stares down at him, the mask completely gone. In his eyes is his desperate desire to believe Eggsy is telling the truth. 

He tries to smile. It's either that or cry. "Fuck, I even let myself be blackmailed so I could stay with you. You think I'd ever let anything take me away?" He closes the last few steps between them. "I'm not going anywhere."

He takes a deep breath, and hopes like hell this is the last time he ever has to say this. "And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what I did, for not telling you, for making you have to see that. But you should know that I would do it again. Cause I ain't _ever_ letting anyone hurt you."

Harry is still staring at him, the space between them so scant it can be measured in breaths, and Eggsy takes a chance. He smiles a little, crooked, still trying not to cry. "That's my job, apparently."

And it works. Harry makes an inaudible sound that's not really a laugh, his shoulders slumping a little as some of the tension runs out of him. It's okay then, Eggsy can see it, so he doesn't hesitate to move in and wrap both arms around Harry.

Harry holds him back fiercely tight, almost enough to hurt. Eggsy just clings to him harder and relishes the ache in his ribs.

"When all this is done," Harry says, "we'll talk about it." His voice is somewhat muffled by the way his face is pressed to Eggsy's hair, but there is no mistaking his meaning. He's talking about what happened in the church, about that awful video.

Eggsy nods. "Okay."

He's glad they're not going to talk about it tonight. Until they both know for certain that Charlie won't follow through on his threat, it's not safe to talk about it. He knows that's dumb, but he also knows that it's true.

And he knows Harry will keep his promise. Even if he needs to be nudged about it, which Eggsy is perfectly prepared to do.

He rises up a little on his toes so he can give Harry a kiss. He exerts the faintest pressure with his arms. "Let's go back to sleep, yeah?"

For a moment Harry resists, then he gives in. He releases Eggsy, but stays close. "All right."

They leave the hall light on, but Harry reaches out to push the bedroom door closed. It swings shut most of the way, blocking out most of the light and creating shadows deep enough that they shouldn't have any trouble falling asleep again. Assuming, of course, that sleep is still possible tonight.

But Eggsy thinks it will be. They've been headed for this moment ever since that first night, when he came home to find Harry sitting there with the USB drive clenched in his fist. Now it's come and gone, and though he's not naïve enough to think everything's going to magically be all better, he does have hope.

They get in bed and pull the covers back up. Eggsy scoots over until he's lying right next to Harry, his head on Harry's shoulder. With familiar ease, Harry's arm slips about him, keeping him close.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Harry says quietly.

"It's okay," Eggsy says.

"No, it isn't," Harry says.

Eggsy doesn't have an answer for that, so he just leans up and gives Harry a kiss. Then he shuts his eyes and gets comfy, and tries to fall back asleep.

He's nearly there when he hears Harry whisper, "And I won't ever let anyone hurt you, either." He feels a warm kiss on the top of his head.

Then he's asleep.


	8. Opening Gambit

In the morning they discover someone stole Eggsy's bicycle during the night, and Harry does his best to eat a real breakfast.

He feels rather embarrassed about last night. He could have -- should have -- handled the situation better. But he has to admit that there is also some relief. They have at last confronted the elephant in the room. He might not wish to talk about what happened in that church, but if it must happen (and he knows it must), at least he is now in control of when that will be.

It's the best he's going to get, and he knows it. And Eggsy, who could have demanded otherwise, has agreed. Because despite everything, somehow, incredibly, Eggsy still loves him.

Eggsy doesn't say anything about last night either. Perhaps he's also embarrassed. Whatever his reasons for keeping silent, Harry is grateful to him.

They don't speak much as they move through their morning routine, necessarily altered by their different surroundings. But the good morning kiss is the same, and there is nothing unusual in the way Eggsy trails his hand down Harry's arm as he walks past. 

The kitchen is full of morning light. Harry starts the coffeemaker while Eggsy stands by the kitchen table and yawns.

"I'll make some breakfast," Harry offers.

Eggsy hums in agreement. "Gonna take a look around," he says. 

Harry nods. As tourists, they should probably already be on the beach, eager for sun and salt water, but they had something of a lie-in today. Officially his excuse on their mission report will be jet lag, but privately they'll both know better.

He moves around the kitchen, already having familiarised himself with its contents and where everything is. The team responsible for setting all this up has done their job well; the safe house is well stocked with everything two agents could need for an extended stay. Nonetheless Harry intends to make a trip to the local supermarket as soon as possible. Not only will it fit their cover, but it will give them another chance to see the neighborhood and its people. 

And if it gives them a chance to see Charlie Hesketh as well, so much the better.

He's just put the toast in when Eggsy comes back inside. "You're not gonna believe this." He looks pissed off. "Someone stole my fucking bike."

Harry just looks at him.

Eggsy scowls. "I know. I shoulda put it in the garage."

Still saying nothing, Harry returns his attention to the eggs.

With a sigh, Eggsy calls the rental company as any proper tourist would. He makes profuse apologies. He agrees to pay for the cost of the missing bike if it can't be found. Then he arranges to rent another one.

By the time he's finished with all that, breakfast is ready. Harry sets their plates on the table and sits down, eyeing his food with misgiving.

He must try, though. Maybe today it won't taste like blood. Maybe today will be better.

It isn't. Not really. But he manages half, which is an improvement. Eggsy doesn't say a word, but it's clear that he notices -- and that he approves.

****

A week later, they're ready to move to the next stage of the mission.

Like most stakeouts, the time moves slowly, long stretches of boredom punctuated by occasional, brief bursts of activity. They've taken turns staking out Charlie's house, trying to learn his daily routine. What they've learned, however, is that Charlie _has_ no routine. He goes where he wants, when he wants. He has no steady girlfriend, and though he has friends down at the local, he doesn't meet them on any regular schedule. And he doesn't bring anyone back to his house. Ever.

He has no job. No social activities that are not random and apparently motivated by pure whim. He goes sailing on a boat he owns at a nearby marina, drinks heavily at parties on the beach, prowls the resorts and has sex with pretty tourists. Always in their hotel room; he never brings any of them back to his house. 

Eggsy has planted several cameras at various locations, all of them discreetly hidden and aimed at Charlie's house. They now have clear views of his front door and all the windows, as well as the backyard. They are all motion sensitive, recording only when someone goes in or out. An alert pings their glasses when this happens; one of them is always at the safe house, and so far they have not missed any of Charlie's comings and goings.

In spite of that success, though, Harry can't shake an increasing sense of frustration. They need to be able to see the _interior_ of the house. That's where they will find the original video, along with any other copies Charlie has made. 

They need to get inside. 

Fortunately, Merlin agrees. After another interminable delay while he clears it with Arthur, he tells them they can move to the next stage of the operation.

"It's about time," is all Harry has to say. He doesn't tell Merlin that he had already decided to move forward on his own, even without the go-ahead. He suspects Merlin knows that anyway. 

It's late afternoon, evening really, the sun almost set. Which means it's getting to be quite late in London. Still Merlin waited to tell them, even though he probably had Arthur's answer first thing this morning. He did it on purpose of course, so they'd have to wait until tomorrow to put the plan in action. So they would spend the rest of today in preparation, as though they haven't been ready for this since day one.

The interference is kindly meant, and he knows that -- rationally. But it still pisses Harry off. He barely waits to make sure the glasses aren't still transmitting before he snaps, "Merlin needs to spend a little less time meddling where he doesn't belong."

Eggsy blinks in surprise. "What?"

"We could have finished this today," Harry says. If Merlin had talked to them even just a couple hours earlier, they would have had enough time to act today. At this very minute they might have the drive containing the video in their possession, along with Charlie Hesketh's silence. 

"Yeah," Eggsy says. He too is unhappy with their lack of progress. 

He hasn't said anything since that first night, but he hasn't needed to. In the week since Harry made his promise, he has begun to cautiously hope that the worst is behind them. He is eating better, and less prone to startling at half-glimpsed movements. He is sleeping better too, only waking twice from dreams of blood and carnage. On one of those occasions it took everything he had not to lash out at Eggsy, his confused mind registering him as a threat. He doesn't think Eggsy knows this.

Twice is better than seven. Still, he knows he won't be able to completely relax until he has that damn video in his possession. 

"But we don't know that he would've gone out today," Eggsy offers. 

This is both true and not true, and it doesn't make Harry feel any better. Of course they don't _know_ that Charlie would have gone anywhere today. He has no set schedule; his comings and goings are maddeningly, utterly random; they are perpetually one step behind him.

But they know enough. Charlie is no homebody. He would have gone out today because that's what he does. The where wouldn't have mattered.

Well, it's too late now. Nothing they can do but accept it, and be ready for tomorrow. Still, he reminds himself to have a word with Merlin when they get back to London. 

"Besides," Eggsy says. A faint tinge of pink colours his cheeks. "I ain't in no hurry to see you in danger."

Most of Harry's frustrated anger melts away. He would say that of the two of them, Eggsy has the more dangerous role tomorrow -- but the plain truth is that neither one of them will be very safe. 

"I'll be fine," he says. "As will you." He gives Eggsy what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, I know," Eggsy replies. He sounds confident. He even looks it. But Harry knows he is quietly worried nonetheless. 

This is fine. He's worried, too. 

****

They spend the rest of the evening going over the plan for tomorrow. They challenge each other with new scenarios, those random events that can make or break a mission. Only when each is satisfied that the other is thoroughly prepared do they give it up for the night.

Since their arrival in the Bahamas they have not had sex. They don't on this night, either. But they lie close, Eggsy's back pressed to Harry's chest, their legs fitting together. His arm is looped about Eggsy, holding him with possessive warmth. And Eggsy laces their fingers together and doesn't let go.

****

Morning brings slightly cooler weather than what they've had all week. There's still plenty of warmth and sunshine, though. Harry peers through the blinds of their bedroom window and nods approvingly up at the sky.

Still in his pyjamas, Eggsy wanders over to the dresser to collect his clothes for the day. In one hand he holds his phone while he squints at the screen. The other reaches high above his head as he yawns and stretches, arching his back a little. A strip of skin is exposed as he stretches, his T-shirt riding up to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his stomach.

Harry's cock, which has so far been perfectly content to do nothing on this trip, twitches in sudden interest.

And that fast, he makes a decision. If all goes according to plan today, their mission will be over, declared a success. Why not "celebrate" with Eggsy tonight?

Even unarticulated, the promise solidifies his resolve. Today this all ends. 

He doesn't ask if Eggsy is ready. He already knows the answer. They've been ready for this day since their arrival. They merely needed the right time.

Eggsy rummages in the top drawer of the dresser he's claimed for himself and comes up with a pair of socks and some clean underwear. He sets his phone down on top of the dresser and heads for the bathroom.

"I'll make some coffee," Harry says.

"Cheers," Eggsy mumbles, still not fully awake yet.

Harry allows himself the briefest moment to indulge in selfish fantasy, on what would happen if he were to follow Eggsy into the shower, if they fell on the bed together, wet and naked and kissing. And that's something his cock is definitely interested in, which means he needs to let it go, _now._

He moves through the safe house and into the kitchen. Breakfast today will be light, just toast and coffee. Although Charlie himself has not yet made it out the door before ten o'clock, they can't take any chances. Another month in surveillance might add some certainty to their idea of his schedule, but that's time they don't have.

Besides, Harry thinks, if he had to spend another month here, he would go mad.

Eggsy joins him soon enough, already dressed for the day. Not in the Kingsman suit, but a simple T-shirt and shorts. Today he is just another tourist. Today he is meant to blend in as much as possible, to draw little attention to himself.

Harry is the one in the suit.

Eggsy doesn't ask. But it's there in his face, in the slightly pained wince around his eyes. And because Harry too has concerns about this day, he pauses in gathering up the breakfast dishes and sets his hand on Eggsy's shoulder.

Eggsy looks up at him, at once so young and far wiser than his years.

Harry doesn't say anything. He gives Eggsy's shoulder a squeeze, and he smiles a little.

Eggsy sighs unhappily, but he manages to smile in return.

****

In a perfect world they would have a full team at their disposal, and Merlin would be collecting information from several different sources and feeding it to them as additional data on which to base their decisions. But this isn't a perfect world. They only have each other. 

When they originally laid their plans for today's work, Harry had intended to instruct Merlin to connect their comms so he and Eggsy could hear what the other was doing. At some point during the last few days, though, he must have changed his mind, because now that the moment has arrived, he doesn't say a word. Wanting to know what is happening with Eggsy is a matter of concern, and it could be important for Eggsy to hear what he is doing. But the request could also be miscontrued as a sign of mistrust, a hint that he doesn't have faith in Eggsy to do his part today.

So Harry says nothing. Though it will be frustrating and keep him on edge, his sole line of communication for today's mission will be with Merlin. And so it will be for Eggsy, as well.

They don't waste time on lingering good-byes or anything like that. For as much preparation and planning that goes into a mission, eventually this moment always arrives, when they must go their separate ways and walk willingly into potential danger. It's never easy, never as simple as it seems.

And yet it must be done.

So Eggsy heads out on his new bicycle, the now-suntanned tourist with his phone and little carry pack out for a ride on a pretty tropical morning. Harry remains in the kitchen, watching the laptop screen for some sign of activity, waiting for one of their cameras to begin transmitting, brought to life by movement as Charlie Hesketh emerges from his house for the day.

It's a long wait, made more aggravating by his quiet worries about Eggsy being seen, or worse, being hurt by Charlie. But at last the quiet ping comes over his glasses, followed by Merlin's voice saying, "Target is leaving."

Right on cue, the laptop flares to life.

There on the screen is Charlie Hesketh, walking out his front door. He's in shorts and a baggy tank top, all the better to reveal his muscled arms to admiring eyes. And he's wearing deck shoes, which means he is headed for the marina.

"You've got him?" Merlin asks.

"I do," Harry says. He watches Charlie walk down the pavement, young and strong and full of twisted hate, and his heart starts to beat faster.

"Go now," Merlin says in his ear. And Harry obeys.

He and Eggsy have walked various routes through the city, timing just how long it takes for Charlie to walk from his house to his main points of interest. He has a car, but the island is small enough that it's not needed very often. Today, as he has on every day when he's gone sailing, he is on foot.

Harry walks down the street, mindful of how fast he's going, his surroundings, the way Merlin says, "Gawain is in place." He knows exactly where Eggsy is hiding now, the bicycle hidden behind a fence down the street, Eggsy himself crouched down low behind a row of flowering bushes. The plan calls for Eggsy to wait fifteen minutes before moving. It's long enough to make sure Charlie isn't coming back, but not so long that he will lose out on any time.

Every minute counts today.

Harry turns down another street. He knows just where he will intercept Charlie's route to the marina. Just where they will have their first ever face-to-face meeting.

He's glad he never met Charlie before, that they never spoke before this day. He can face his adversary with no past history clouding the issue, no remembered recriminations. Only their current words and deeds will matter.

He turns the corner and now he can see Charlie. Instantly a cold detachment falls over him. It's always like this when he's about to take action. Days, weeks, months of planning all come down to this. 

It never goes according to the script.

Harry wouldn't want it any other way.

Their paths will intersect not far from a bus stop. Behind the shelter where people can sit waiting for the bus is a stretch of green grass, and beyond that lies the Caribbean. The water is a beautiful shade of blue, but Harry only observes that there are few people out today. Traffic on this street is minimal. There may be witnesses to the coming confrontation, but not many. It's about as perfect a place as he could want, with just enough privacy to be able to talk, but public enough that words are the only things that will be exchanged.

Charlie spots him just as Harry walks past the bus stop. Although they've never met, he can't fail to recognise the pinstriped navy suit, the glasses, the shiny Oxfords.

"Gawain is moving in," Merlin says in his ear. "Good luck."

Harry continues to walk toward Charlie, unhurried, but with no doubt as to his intentions. He watches Charlie look around him, checking to see if there are any other Kingsman agents present, even glancing up into the palm trees. It's a small gesture, but a telling one. This is no ignorant mark who can be strong-armed into doing what Harry wants. He was very nearly a Kingsman himself. He knows many of their tricks and most of their ways.

This is fine. Harry welcomes the challenge.

Charlie doesn't run. He waits, arms folded in a display of confidence that is probably only halfway feigned. He still holds all the power -- or so he thinks.

The fact that he's right doesn't make it any less aggravating.

"Gawain has gone inside," Merlin informs him.

Harry doesn't nod or do anything to confirm that he has heard. There are hand gestures all agents are taught, a form of non-verbal communication that takes the place of audible words when such things are not possible. Those gestures are by necessity brief and restricted, but there are times when it's all a handler can expect to receive. Certainly a two-way conversation through the glasses while standing in front of a target is out of the question.

"Is it just you?" Charlie asks. Nothing in his voice or posture gives anything away. It's impossible to tell if he actually knows who Harry is, or if he thinks Harry is just a random Kingsman agent.

Harry stops a few paces away. Far enough to create the illusion of physical safety. Close enough that there will be no making a run for it. 

In his ear Merlin says, "Gawain has started disabling the security system."

Harry gazes at Charlie. He sees a spoiled young man, rich and arrogant, and probably clinically insane. In another time and place he maybe could have found it in him to feel pity for Charlie after losing his entire family in such a horrific manner -- except for what Charlie did to Eggsy. For that, Harry will never forgive him.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

Charlie blinks, putting it together then. He grins nervously as he lowers his arms to his sides. "What'd you do to him?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry says, striving for cold and uncaring. As if he would ever harm Eggsy. But if Charlie believes he would, it could add to his confidence, and potentially lead him into making a mistake from sheer arrogance. "What matters is what I plan to do to you."

Some of Charlie's smile slips then. "You won't do anything. You can't."

Harry cocks his head ever so slightly. "You seem to be under the impression that we're playing by the rules here."

The last of Charlie's smile fades. "You don't dare."

"You have no idea what I'm capable of," he says. "It's an understandable mistake. But one I advise you not to make."

Charlie's phone dings from inside his pocket, but he doesn't even blink. He just stares at Harry for a long moment. Then slowly he shakes his head. 

"Galahad, we have a problem," Merlin says.

Harry barely has time to process this before Charlie is speaking. "You're good. I mean, you'd have to be." His gaze lingers on the scar gracing Harry's brow, but he leaves the rest of his words unspoken: _since you didn't die at the church._

"Charlie has cameras of his own," Merlin says in his ear. "Gawain disabled them, but he will almost certainly find out."

Of course. That notification on Charlie's phone.

And that fast, Harry's priorities change. He no longer believes he can threaten Charlie into handing over the video. Not that this was ever very likely, but for the purposes of the mission, it was technically the first objective of this confrontation. 

He knows now that isn't going to happen. Instead he focuses on the next objective -- keeping Charlie here long enough to give Eggsy time to search his house. Now Harry has an added goal. Now he also has to prevent Charlie from looking at his phone and seeing the alert from the disabled security system.

Assuming that the style of the tone itself hasn't already alerted him as to what's going on.

Oblivious to all of this, Charlie goes on, gaining confidence with every word. "But you're not stupid. You don't want that video out there. You don't want the whole world watching what you did." A hint of his former smile returns, his eyes alight from within. Now it's not nerves in that smile. It's pure malice.

"I could simply kill you now," Harry offers.

Charlie's gaze darts about again; he looks both scared and angry then, probably chastising himself for letting his guard down while other Kingsmen stalk toward him. Seeing nothing, he regains some of his former smug surety. "You can't kill me and you know it."

"Oh, I'm certain I could," Harry says calmly. His imagination tries to come up with a picture of what Eggsy is doing. With an effort he banishes it. He can't afford to think about Eggsy right now. "But I'd rather not."

The belligerence returns to Charlie's stare. "Then why are you here, old man?"

"To prove that I found you," Harry replies. "There's nowhere you can run where I won't find you." He pauses to let that sink in, then says, "No one else needs to be involved, though. Hand it over and I'll 'forget' where you are. No one at Kingsman needs to know. You've got money, you can live happily wherever you like."

Charlie shakes his head. Which is no more than what Harry expected, but it still frustrates and disappoints him. "No. You're gonna walk away now. And I'm going to let you. But if I ever see you again, that'll be it. No more anonymous spy. You'll be famous before the day is out. And what'll your precious _Eggsy_ do then?" Charlie sneers the name. "No, I think you better go, old man."

Harry says nothing to that. Once the threat of exposure would have given him pause. Now it's insignificant. There are worse things to lose, he knows. He nearly lost Eggsy to the mistrust between them, to accusations of deception and betrayal. He won't ever let that happen to them again.

"Gawain has found the flash drive," Merlin says.

Relief swells through him, almost strong enough to make him reckless and defiant. It doesn't matter what Charlie says now. They've won. Eggsy has the video, and without it Charlie has no leverage. He's lost the battle and he doesn't even know it.

And now suddenly so many things are possible. He'll never forget what happened in that church, can't erase it from his mind as simply as erasing the contents of a flash drive, but he can at last move on. The happy ending he promised Eggsy is just around the corner.

Elation makes him reckless in a way he hasn't been in decades, since he was a young agent. He very nearly says something, ugly words meant to provoke Charlie and a confrontation he is certain of winning now. But somehow he manages to hold his tongue.

And it's a good thing, too, because not a moment later Merlin says, "And a second one."

As swiftly as it came upon him, Harry's happiness vanishes. He realizes then just how well Charlie has played them all. How well prepared Charlie is, how deep the deceptions go.

Instinct urges him to rush forward, let the purely physical take over. But he has nothing to gain by such a reaction, and everything to lose. So although it goes against everything he is, he forces himself to stand down. To look down and away, signaling defeat. To pretend that Charlie's words have broken him.

When in fact it's not Charlie's words that have filled him with despair, with rage, with fear. It's what Merlin just said, and the implications. It's knowing that Charlie always knew Kingsman would find him. Knowing that he prepared for this day, installing his own security cameras; planting false flash drives throughout his house; knowing Kingsman would be driven to hunt for them all, needing to collect them all on the off chance that this one here was the right one, the one containing the video they so desperately want.

It's knowing that Eggsy, his darling Eggsy, is in terrible danger.

While his gaze is still on the ground, while the view Merlin is receiving from his glasses is the pavement and his shoes, perhaps a small area of grass visible, Harry taps his foot twice in rapid succession. It's the signal to abort.

"There are multiple drives here," Merlin confirms. "This is a trap. I've already ordered Gawain to abort."

Eggsy won't, of course. He'll stay until the bitter end, searching every inch of the house. Harry knows that. Merlin must know it, too. But at least the order has been given. Eggsy has a chance to get out.

Out loud he says, "This isn't over." It's the weak threat of losers across the globe. If Charlie wasn't so secure in his victory, he would be suspicious of Harry's sudden capitulation. He should be; no Kingsman would surrender so easily without a fight. And he's clearly retained enough of his training that this too should have stayed with him.

But in his eagerness to gloat, Charlie forgets what he ought to have remembered. He stands there and he smirks, looking so much like the prick who made life hell for Eggsy during the Lancelot trials that it's all Harry can do not to punch him in the face.

"Yeah, it is," Charlie says. "You lose." He reaches out, plants both hands on Harry's chest, and shoves.

Distracted by his worries about Eggsy, Harry is taken off guard. He's aware of the oncoming car, of the vicious triumph on Charlie's face, of the way he's knocked off his feet. But it all seems to happen rather slowly, almost like it's happening to someone else.

Despite his shock, he isn't completely helpless. He manages to wrench himself to one side as he falls. And the driver of the car is alert and aware, and slams on the brakes in time. The collision that could have killed him is transformed instead into a glancing blow.

It still hurts like hell. Harry is driven to the pavement on his hands and knees. Pain jolts through him, settles in his shoulders and hips. He hears himself make a gasping outcry, but it's more in shock than anything.

Blurry in his sight, Charlie runs for home.

The car screeches to a halt. Sunlight dazzles off the face of the Bremont strapped to his wrist.

"Get out of there," he breathes. The words fall into the morning, unheard by anyone but himself.

A car door slams. The pavement is hot beneath his hands. A thin streamer of blood curls beneath his signet ring. He's lost his glasses in the impact, but he doesn't know where they are.

Eggsy is still in that house, still trying to save him. And Charlie is headed straight for him.

Someone is hurrying toward him, asking if he's okay. He doesn't care. The only footsteps that matter are the ones he can't hear anymore. Charlie running for home. Toward an unsuspecting Eggsy.

His darling Eggsy, who will have seconds of warning at most as Merlin spots Charlie running up on the cameras they've planted around the house. His beautiful, brave Eggsy, who is in terrible danger right now, and who doesn't even know it.

"Get out of there _now_ ," Harry pleads.


	9. A Change in Plan

With the flash drives and the scanner he used to find them stowed in his pack, Eggsy hurries into the backyard of Charlie's house. He crosses the yard and lets himself out through the gate in the corner of the fence. He cuts through the yard of the house behind Charlie's, and then he's on the street. 

His heart is racing and his stomach is knotted with dread, but Eggsy forces himself to walk at a normal pace. "Talk to me," he says without moving his lips. "Somebody fucking talk to me!"

"He's all right," Merlin says. "He's headed for the safe house."

"What the fuck happened?" He's nearing the street corner where he can turn and start toward safety -- and Harry.

Hardly any time has passed since the morning's activity began, but it seems as though it's been hours. For most of it, he was only in touch with Merlin, receiving the occasional brief comment on what was going on between Charlie and Harry. It wasn't until the end, right after Merlin ordered him to abort the mission, that he was directly connected with Harry.

He has no idea why Merlin did that. He's not about to ask.

But he heard it. The end of what must have been one hell of a confrontation.

 _This isn't over._ Harry sounding so beaten, playing his role perfectly.

 _Yeah it is. You lose._ Charlie so smug in victory.

Then a sudden rush of violence, noises coming too fast to decipher, culminating in a squeal of brakes and the unmistakable heavy thud of a body hitting a car. 

And since then Eggsy hasn't been able to breathe.

"Galahad was pushed in front of an approaching vehicle." Merlin sounds very matter-of-fact, very professional. "However it was a glancing blow, as he had time to perform an evasive maneuver."

Eggsy can barely contain his incredulous, _Are you fucking kidding me?_ Evasive maneuver like hell. What Merlin really means is that Harry twisted and scrambled to save his own arse. 

But apparently it worked. Harry is still alive. And he must not be too badly hurt if he's already on his way back to the safe house.

"Galahad?" It's an effort to remember to use code names. At least there's no one around, no witnesses to this nice English tourist talking to himself as he walks quickly down the street. "You there?"

"His glasses were damaged," Merlin says. "Audio communications are down. However the visual signal remains steady, and I can assure you that Galahad is well."

Instinctively Eggsy wants to argue. But he recognises that Merlin must be telling the truth. Over the years he's watched dozens of missions; he can surely see when an agent is injured just by the movement onscreen. Harry must be truly unhurt and walking normally. 

"Okay," Eggsy says. He glances around him, making doubly sure to check the end of the street, where anyone could suddenly show themselves as they rounded the corner. "Where's Charlie?"

"Unknown," Merlin replies.

"Fuck!" Eggsy exclaims. He looks around again. "Fucking find him!" Although to be fair, he's not exactly sure what Merlin can do. This isn't London with its myriad traffic cameras and security cameras mounted on the side of buildings. The simple truth is, it's impossible to find someone if there isn't anyone watching.

Still Merlin sounds calm as he says, "Already working on it."

"Good," he says. He breathes a little easier, but he still can't help walking a little bit faster. He needs to get back. He needs to see Harry and make sure for himself.

And then he needs to find out just what the fuck happened today. 

****

He's the first one back, and he doesn't waste any time. He tosses his pack on the kitchen counter; it's possible that one of the flash drives inside is legit, but Eggsy seriously doubts it.

They can check them later, though. Right now his priority is Charlie fucking Hesketh. Their original plan called for them to confront Charlie from a position of superiority, once they had the flash drive with the video already in their possession. Obviously now that isn't going to happen. Charlie is both better prepared and far more dangerous than either of them expected. It's humiliating and infuriating, and Eggsy honestly doesn't know what they're going to do next.

The laptop sits on the kitchen table, right where he and Harry left it before they went out this morning. He throws it open and checks the screen. It's blank, indicating that the cameras he planted around the house haven't picked up any activity. Obviously Charlie hasn't made it back yet.

That's good. That's just fucking super.

Frustrated, Eggsy bangs his hand on the table. Fine. So Charlie isn't returning home, but they have no idea where he's actually gone. 

Nothing he can do about it now, he reminds himself.

But he _can_ do something about Harry. "Where is he?" he demands.

"I estimate arrival in two minutes," Merlin replies.

"Copy that," Eggsy says. Grateful to be in motion again, even if it's for something like this, he darts into the loo and takes the first aid kit out from the cabinet under the sink. He grabs a clean flannel and some towels, then dumps it all on the kitchen table next to the laptop. He spares a few moments to check the screen to make sure Charlie hasn't come back while he wasn't looking, then he marches over to the fridge. He flings open the freezer and dumps some ice into a plastic bag. He's trying to think what else he can do when he hears the front door open.

Immediately he heads in that direction, pausing only long enough to drop the makeshift icepack and grab his gun from the pack on the counter. He knows it's Harry, it's got to be -- but what if it's not?

He brings his gun up as he steps into the living room. He doesn't let himself stop to think what he'll do if it's Charlie standing there. He just moves. 

It isn't Charlie. It's Harry, his own pistol aimed at Eggsy's head.

"Fuck," Eggsy swears. He lowers his gun, but doesn't stop staring at Harry. 

At first glance, Harry doesn't look like he's been hit by a car. His jacket is still buttoned and at some point he's even straightened his tie. Only a few smudges of dirt on his suit, the hair falling onto his forehead, and the crooked slant of his glasses give it away

Then Harry puts his weapon away, and Eggsy sees the blood on his hands. 

"Are you okay? Fucking get in here." He's torn between wanting to give Harry a fierce hug, and bodily dragging him into the kitchen. 

"I'm fine," Harry says. "A little shaken, I grant you, but I'm not hurt."

Eggsy gives a pointed look at Harry's hands.

"Nothing more serious than a few scrapes," Harry says. "Honestly I'm fine. Now tell me what happened with you. Where do we stand with Charlie?"

"Not until you get in here," Eggsy insists. 

Harry purses his lips, but he complies. And just as Eggsy suspected, he's limping.

"I fucking knew it," he says.

Harry gives him a firm glare. "There is not one reason I can't still do this job. Now are you going to tell me what happened or must I demand that Merlin send me the recording?"

"You can't," Eggsy says, not without a hint of triumph. "Merlin says the audio's all fucked up on your glasses."

Harry limps past him; he doesn't even glance at Eggsy. "True," he says. "I suppose I'll just have to use yours." Lightning fast, he snatches the glasses right off Eggsy's face.

Eggsy reels back in surprise, his left ear smarting. "Oi!"

Harry exchanges his glasses for Eggsy's darker frames. He gazes at Eggsy with his most innocent expression, the way he once blinked up at Rottie and his gang. "Now," he says, "tell me what's happening with Charlie."

It's on the tip of his tongue to say, _You don't know?_ But that's not fair at all. Harry was busy trying not to get run over. He can hardly be blamed for not knowing where Charlie ran off to.

"He ain't back yet," Eggsy says. He slides Harry's glasses on; they don't fit right, slanting across his face at an angle. "Or at least, he wasn't."

A sharp ping goes off on his borrowed glasses, shortly followed by a single word of warning. "Gawain." Merlin's voice is a bit distorted, but there is no mistaking his meaning.

Of fucking course. "Shit!" He runs for the kitchen, slams to a halt at the table, and sure enough, the laptop screen has come to life.

The house looks the same as ever. There's no sign of Charlie. But he's obviously been here. The camera Eggsy set up in a tree across the street activated at the movement of Charlie's arrival. Which means he's gone inside.

Harry enters the kitchen more slowly, still limping. "So he's returned."

"Yeah," Eggsy says. He backs up the footage, and there he is. Charlie fucking Hesketh. Ready for a day on the water, with his stupid tank top and deck shoes. He looks out of breath from running, and his face is a mask of cold fury. He runs into the house and the door shuts behind him.

That's all there is to see. They have no eyes on Charlie now. Given time and the right equipment, Kingsman could certainly hack into Charlie's own security cameras. But that would require another opportunity to get inside his house -- and Eggsy already knows that isn't going to happen.

He takes off Harry's damaged glasses and sets them down beside the pack sitting on the counter. There are four flash drives in there, along with the scanner he used to look for them. They were all in fairly obvious hiding places, just waiting for someone to come along and find them. And almost certainly they are all fake.

"Wasn't hard to find 'em," he says. "I'm sure I woulda found more if Merlin hadn't told me to abort." He points at the nearest chair. "Sit."

To his surprise, Harry obeys. He gives Eggsy a somewhat defiant look, his chin up, but he does sit.

Eggsy doesn't waste his chance. He picks up the flannel and makes a _give it here_ gesture.

Shaking his head a little, Harry holds out his left hand.

His palm is all torn up, bits of grit and dirt ground into some of the abrasions. They probably hurt like hell. Eggsy is as gentle as he can be as he cleans the wounds. "He knew we were coming."

"Of course he did," Harry says. His voice is mild; he barely flinches as Eggsy works away. Either he's not pissed off over the way Charlie played them, or else he already dealt with all that on the way over here. And really, what is there to say? They both underestimated Charlie, and now they've both paid for it.

Eggsy thinks back to that bitterly cold day in Kensington Gardens, standing there while Charlie withheld the flash drive from him, making him dance for it. Charlie had been so emphatic about no one hunting him down, no one watching him -- but he had always known Kingsman would find him.

He had counted on it.

Fury strangles him, wanting to make his hands shake just when he needs them to be steady. Over the past week they had talked about Charlie and his cleverness. They had both remembered that Charlie had come far in the trials, that he had only been undone by his selfishness on the train tracks. But it's clear now that neither of them had _really_ understood what that meant. They hadn't realised just how deadly an adversary Charlie really is.

Well, they know now, Eggsy thinks sourly.

He reaches for Harry's other hand. He's always loved Harry's hands, the way they touch him, their grace at handling both guns and fragile things. It infuriates him to know they have been injured because of someone like Charlie.

"The real question," Harry says, "is why he went to all this trouble. What is his end game?"

Eggsy pauses for a moment in his task. He never thought to ask that, but he sees now his error. He had believed when Charlie said he only wanted to be left alone. But he should have known it was never going to be that simple.

"He doesn't need money, as we know," Harry continues. He sounds almost pensive, working it out in his head and out loud at the same time. "He could always demand classified information from you as payment for keeping the video secret, but it wouldn't do him any good unless he sold it, and he strikes me as being too lazy for that."

Eggsy knows the answer. It comes to him at once, both correct and inevitable. He sits back, the bloody flannel crushed in one hand. He remembers how it felt to finally, finally punch Charlie in the face. He remembers the way Charlie shook and shuddered with the force of the electricity coursing through him. He remembers turning away and forgetting about Charlie the moment his fallen body was out of sight.

"To make us suffer. Revenge."

Harry considers this. He's still wearing Eggsy's glasses. Some of the cuts on his palms are bleeding again, but he doesn't seem to notice. Whatever's wrong with his leg, whatever's making him limp, he doesn't show any sign of it now that he's sitting down. "I rather doubt Charlie Hesketh gives a shit about me," he says. He looks Eggsy square in the eye. "Except as a means to an end."

Glumly Eggsy amends his statement. "Yeah, okay. To make _me_ suffer."

"So I ask again," Harry says, "what is his end game? What does he intend? What does he really want?"

He doesn't want to think about that. He wants Charlie to go away, for none of this to have happened. "He's fucking crazy. How the hell should I know what he's thinking?"

Harry gives him that look, the one that stops short of disappointment, but still lets Eggsy know he's not getting away with any bullshit. "Nonetheless, it's our job to try." 

Eggsy scowls. Harry glances down at his bleeding hands and quietly sighs. "Charlie believes you took everything from him." His voice has lost that professor-giving-a-lecture tone; he sounds almost normal now. "His family. Many if not all of his friends. His place in society and his status. The comfortable life he had, the one he thought would never go away." 

He nods a little. Yeah. All that makes sense. Even if it's not true. It wasn't his fault, after all. 

"So now he wants to take all that from you," Harry concludes.

This too makes a terrible kind of sense. And in a flash, Eggsy is struck by purest white panic. "Oh fuck! My mum!"

If Charlie wants to take away everything he lost, there's no better place to start than with Eggsy's family.

He nearly bolts to his feet, the fear is so strong. Across from him, Harry looks briefly chagrined; obviously he didn't think of this. But he doesn't hesitate. He taps at Eggsy's glasses, activating them. "Merlin, I need you to make sure Michelle Unwin and her daughter are protected." 

There's a pause as he listens to whatever Merlin is saying. Eggsy fights the urge to rip the glasses off his face and jam them onto his nose so he can hear it.

"Not as yet," Harry says, "but we may have reason to be concerned." There's another brief pause, then he says, "Thank you." He taps again at the glasses, then takes them off. He sets them on the table in between him and Eggsy; it must hurt his hands, but he gives no sign of it. "Merlin is sending someone to keep watch over them."

Eggsy sags in relief. He knows he's overreacting, but he can't help it. It's his fucking _mum_. And Daisy, still so young she doesn't even know when she should be afraid. How could he ever live with himself if anything happened to them because of something he did?

Logically he knows he shouldn't worry -- but it's hard not to. Still, he does his best. He takes a deep breath, bites his lip, and glares at the table top. It's fine. It'll be fine. Charlie can't leave Nassau, can't even leave his damn house without Kingsman knowing. 

But he might still have friends in England. Someone he could call to do his dirty work for him. That kind of thing is definitely his style. 

_Fuck._

"So that's your family taken care of," Harry says. He seems oblivious to Eggsy's worry. Or more likely, he knows, but he's just being nice about it and not saying anything. "Which leaves only Kingsman and myself."

Eggsy wishes he could be surprised. But it's true. As much as it sucks to hear, Harry is right. They are both very real targets for Charlie and his mad scheme.

"He knows we have to pursue him now," Harry continues. He looks straight at Eggsy. No evasiveness, no flinching from his duty. It must be killing him to have been so close to Charlie, so close to getting his hands on that terrible video -- only to fail.

"And he also must know that he can't take us both on at once. He'll have to immediately incapacitate one of us." His tone makes it clear that he expects that someone to be himself.

Eggsy wants to protest. But he can't. The whole point of this charade is to make him suffer. What better way to do that than to render Harry helpless against anything Charlie might do to him?

But he hates it, he fucking hates it. He's already gone to such extreme lengths to protect Harry and keep him safe. The thought of just letting Charlie have his way with him now goes against every fiber of his being. 

Just two weeks ago he had thought he would never have this again, that his betrayal and theft had ruined everything forever between them. He had thought he would never get to work with Harry again, or just _be_ together with him.

Except he's been proven wrong. They're still together, and stronger than ever. They've been through the worst, and they survived. And he is _not_ gonna let Charlie Hesketh take all that away. 

"What if he thought he didn't have to?"

Harry gazes at him. "Why would he think that?"

Suddenly excited, Eggsy leans in. A whole array of new possibilities expands before him. Yeah. Hell yeah. This can work. He'll fucking _make_ it work. "What if he doesn't try to take you out 'cause he thinks you're too badly hurt by that car?"

"No," Harry says quickly. "You're not facing him alone." Stubborn defiance gleams in his eyes.

"Are you mental? Of course I ain't." No way is he underestimating Charlie again. Not after everything he's done to them already. Still, he can see how Harry could have misinterpreted what he said. Not that there was ever a chance of it happening. Even if Charlie wasn't so dangerous, Harry deserves to be there when they take him down. After what Charlie's put them through, they're doing this together or not at all.

"What I mean is, what if you look more hurt than you are?" He gestures at Harry's bleeding hands. "You know, one arm in a sling, you gotta lean on me to walk, that kinda thing."

Harry thinks about this. He's obviously not very keen on the idea of having to pretend to be hurt. And it's true that doing it this way means there will be a certain element of risk involved. Even with only one free arm, Harry is still plenty lethal, but his actions will necessarily be just a little less effective. Against someone like Charlie, even seconds will count, and even a tiny delay could mean trouble. But if it will keep Harry alive and at his side, it's a risk Eggsy is willing to take.

Apparently so is Harry. "It might stay his hand long enough for us to act," he finally agrees.

"And then we got him," Eggsy says. He has no doubt about that. Together he and Harry are the equal of anyone, even someone with the benefit of Kingsman training.

"All right," Harry says. "We'll try that." He glances down at his hands and frowns. "Now, tell me what happened inside that house, and what you found."

****

The first flash drive contains nothing but cartoons. Disney, Peppa Pig, the kind of stuff Daisy likes to watch. They watch it at a high speed, moving fast enough that they can skip through it all pretty quick, but not so fast that a five-minute clip would be completely passed over.

The second drive is porn. Sick, twisted porn, the kind that delights in degrading the people onscreen. Eggsy scrunches up his nose and can barely look as the images cascade past.

He can practically hear Charlie laughing at them.

The third one starts out the same, sick porn that hurts to watch, even obliquely. But about fifteen minutes in, the image suddenly becomes black. A few moments of fast-forward blank screen unfurl, then he is looking down at the congregation of South Glade Mission Church.

Eggsy utters a shocked gasp as he slows the playback down to normal speed. Beside him, Harry is more self-disciplined, but he suddenly comes to attention, sitting bolt upright in the kitchen chair.

In silence they watch as Harry walks toward the rear of the church. They watch the cold blankness fall over his face as Valentine's signal takes over. They watch him slowly turn and pull his gun, then shoot a woman in the face.

Chaos erupts in the church. And on the screen, the image flickers, then Mickey Mouse is there, cheerfully whistling while he fucks Minnie Mouse.

The chair legs scrape violently as Harry thrusts himself to his feet and whirls away from the laptop. He stalks away a few paces toward the living room, then he stops and just stands there, his back to Eggsy, unmoving.

Eggsy stops the recording. There's no point in going any further. That tease is all they're going to get and he knows it. If he had had time to take other flash drives hidden throughout the house, they might have seen other glimpses of the church massacre, but glimpses only. The real video is still hidden.

Sick with despair, practically shaking with rage, he gets to his feet. He knows this is what Charlie wants, but he can't help it. This isn't about Harry, except as a way to make Eggsy suffer. It's to make him feel helpless, to make him watch as the people he cares about are hurt.

Slowly he crosses the space between them. Harry is staring at nothing, his face white and strained. Echoes of carnage reflect in his eyes. The scar above his eye is jagged and white. Eggsy stops a few paces away, all too aware that he can't get any closer than that. Not right now. Not while part of Harry is still in that fucking church.

"It's okay," he says quietly. "We'll find it. I swear to God, Harry. We'll find it."

Harry doesn't answer. He just stands there, so hurt and angry, while Eggsy rages against the helplessness tearing him apart.

"We'll—" He takes a single step forward and reaches out.

Before Eggsy can touch him, Harry walks away. He passes unseeing through the living room and the sliding glass door there, and out onto the lanai. There he finally stops, standing in full sunshine but still staring at nothing.

Eggsy lets him go. It's all he can do. The rejection hurts, but he gets it. In Harry's place, he would do the same thing. Hell, he's already done it before, on those nights when he wakes up drenched in sweat, still seeing the fatal glint of disco ball light shining on Gazelle's blades. He doesn't want to be touched then either, when the nightmare is still so close and it feels like he's drowning in blood and death.

But they don't have much time. He returns to the kitchen table and checks the laptop. The camera feed is inactive; that means Charlie is still inside the house.

He won't be for long, though. Eggsy feels that in his gut. They have to deal with Charlie today. Now.

He wishes he could give Harry more time. He wishes they weren't here right now, full stop. He wishes that none of this had happened.

But it did. And they have to deal with it. No one else can.

"Come on back," he calls. "We gotta get going." As cold and heartless as it might seem, reminding Harry of his duty is probably the only thing that will bring him back in focus right now.

He picks up his glasses and puts them on. He thinks about activating them, but doesn't. They'll have to bring Merlin in soon enough. There's no way he's doing it now, before Harry's had a chance to pull himself together.

Sooner than he expects, Harry returns to the kitchen. He's still too pale, and he's limping worse than before. He looks old then, too wounded to go on. But there is steel in his gaze as looks at Eggsy. 

"All right. Tell me your plan."


	10. The Art of Deception

While Harry watches over the laptop, Eggsy gets dressed in his suit.

No matter how many times he's done this, it never fails to give him a little thrill. There's just something about a bespoke suit -- especially a bulletproof one -- that changes a man. Once that last button is done up, everything from the way he stands to the crisp gentleman's accent in his mouth is different.

And always too he remembers the first time he ever put it on. Remembers standing in that airplane loo, staring at the handsome stranger's face in the mirror and wishing desperately that Harry could be there to see him. He nearly broke down crying that day, overcome by grief and fear and panic barely held at bay. Seeking something familiar to cling to, he had fumbled at the strange glasses until he was able to contact Roxy.

She had calmed him then, just the sound of her voice doing wonders for his frayed nerves. Talking to her had renewed his strength of purpose and allowed him to walk out and face Merlin with his head held high.

Roxy isn't here today, though. She's been in touch a couple times over the past week, but there haven't been any texts for a few days. Whatever she's doing in Croatia, it's keeping her busy.

Today there's just him and Harry. Merlin will help of course, but there's nothing Merlin can do against a gun or a knife.

No, for this, quite possibly the most important mission of their lives, he and Harry are on their own.

****

The sun is still out; it's not much past noon. Eggsy blinks a little in the flood of light as he walks into the kitchen. So much has already happened today that it seems wrong to be so early in the day. It ought to be later. It ought to be midnight.

Besides, what he and Harry are about to do belongs to the darkness.

Instead bright sunshine greets their departure from the safe house. If their luck holds, they'll come back here only once more, just long enough to pack up and then leave again, for good this time. If they're really lucky, they might even sleep in their own bed tonight.

"Ready?"

Harry nods. He's still in his suit, although he's managed to remove just about every sign that he was struck by a car just a couple hours ago. Although they're still only halfway functional, he wears his glasses. His hands are bandaged, and his right arm is in a makeshift sling composed of a folded towel and his own striped tie. 

Eggsy can't help frowning at the sight of that sling. It was his idea and he accepts that, but he still would've preferred to see it on Harry's left arm. He knows perfectly well that Harry is deadly with both hands, but it bugs him anyway. Only the knowledge that it's necessary for their ruse keeps him silent now. They need every advantage they can get, and doing it this way, letting Charlie see that Harry is visibly weakened on his dominant hand, will hopefully lessen his instinctive mistrust.

That's the plan, anyway. But not much in this whole thing has gone according to plan, and Eggsy can't help the pang of anxiety that slips like a cold knife between his ribs and into his chest.

It hurts just as much.

"Okay," he says. He taps his glasses and that's Merlin brought in. "Let's do it."

They leave the house and walk through the early afternoon sunshine. It's warmed up from this morning, but nothing can warm the ache lodged in Eggsy's chest. 

Adrenaline makes the world seem brighter than usual. Everything he looks at has crisp outlines; sounds are louder and closer. He's keenly aware of the suit on his body, the shoes on his feet, the pistol in its holster nestled under his shoulder. He feels the quiet confidence in Harry beside him, and the silent weight of Merlin back in London, watching and listening.

As they draw near the mint green house where Charlie lives, Merlin speaks up for the first time. "You'll be within range of his cameras in ten seconds."

Eggsy nods. "Understood." Without breaking stride, he slides his left arm about Harry's waist and moves in closer.

After a moment's pause, Harry leans on him as they walk down the pavement. Any second now the cameras of Charlie's security system will be able to see them. The charade begins now.

Except it's no good. Eggsy stops walking.

It's all wrong. Harry is too angry, too eager to see this done, to truly lean on him. No one watching them would be convinced that this is for real. It's too obviously fake, too clearly a set up.

"What's wrong?" Merlin asks. He can only hear what's happening over Eggsy's glasses, but he can see through both sets. They could have probably repaired the damage to Harry's glasses before they left the house, except that neither one of them was willing to spend that kind of time on it. They're still in contact with Merlin, which is really what matters. More importantly, they can't risk Charlie leaving and escaping them when they're so close to being rid of him once and for all.

But even more to the point, they both just want to _finish_ it, full stop.

"You gotta let me take your weight," Eggsy says. He glances up at Harry, then looks quickly away. He wishes he hadn't done it, hadn't seen that brief look of total despair on Harry's face.

"Very well," Harry says. His voice is stiff with wounded pride, but he lets himself sag against Eggsy the way someone truly injured would.

"I'll make it up to you tonight, yeah?" Eggsy says. He can practically hear Merlin squirming at his desk back at HQ, but he doesn't care. Anything to lighten the situation.

Harry makes a quiet but rude noise. "Just get the job done, Gawain."

They start forward again, and now they must surely be within range of Charlie's cameras. Under his breath Harry says quietly, "And once we're finished, I'm going to fuck you until we both pass out."

Eggsy almost stumbles. "Fucking hell," he breathes -- but he has to hide a smile as he says it.

****

They make no effort to hide their approach. They just walk right up to Charlie's house, moving slowly but steadily forward. Harry limps painfully and leans on Eggsy like someone who is only staying upright through an effort of will, but Eggsy keeps his back straight, his gaze focused on the front door. 

There are no signs of life from within the house. No twitch of the drapes at a window. No shadowy figure walking around. No noises. No sudden flash of light in the window from the TV. The house could already be deserted -- except Eggsy knows it's not.

Merlin is silent in his ear. There's nothing he could say, anyway. He can't guide them now.

Eggsy reaches for the doorknob. Harry still leans on him, but not quite as strongly as before; he is tense with restrained action, only waiting for the right moment to unleash it. They both know the odds are high that they will have to immediately separate as they enter the house.

Everything around him is still crystal clear, his nerves wound up to the breaking point. Almost like it's happening to someone else, Eggsy watches his fingers grasp the door handle. It turns easily beneath his hand. He pushes it open but does not follow it in right away.

The interior of the house is lit with warm tropical sunshine. Charlie is nowhere in sight.

Together he and Harry walk inside.

The layout of the house is a mirror of their own. Straight back from the living room is the lanai, and beyond it is the backyard surrounded by the fence Eggsy placed two cameras in during his first trip out here. The kitchen is on the right; a hall stretches off to the left leading to the bedrooms and bathroom. It's a small house for someone supposedly so wealthy, and Eggsy only now realises that once again they've been fooled. This whole arrangement in the Bahamas is temporary. Of course Charlie never intended to stay here for long.

He's only been waiting for them all this time.

Charlie is in the kitchen. At his first look, Eggsy experiences a moment of true surprise at the mirror image quality about all of this. Just like in their own safe house, there is a laptop lying open on the kitchen table.

There is a flash drive plugged into the side.

"Took you long enough," Charlie says. He stands beside the laptop, the fingers of one hand resting lightly on the table beside it. He's changed from his boating clothes into a collared shirt and jeans. 

The gun he's aiming at them is most definitely not Kingsman-issue.

Eggsy doesn't say anything. Beside him Harry eases more weight off him, while still slumping over, maintaining the illusion of weakness.

"You're persistent, old man," Charlie says. "I'll give you that." He taps the tabletop, his fingers inches from the USB drive. "But come on. I was never going to give it to you." He smiles, the old smile Eggsy remembers so well from training, all bright charm on the outside, cold malice in his heart.

 _I was never going to give it to you._ It's the first honest thing he's said since this whole thing began. Maybe even the first honest thing he's said since the night Eggsy first met him in the Kingsman barracks, both of them aiming to be the next Lancelot.

"Actually," Charlie says, "this is going out to the whole world. And then you're—"

They never find out what he was going to say next. In one fluid movement, Harry separates from Eggsy, draws his gun, and shoots the laptop.

Shattered and smoking, the ruined remains of the laptop are blown off the table. Charlie instinctively ducks, then brings the gun to bear on Harry.

Before he can pull the trigger, Eggsy leaps in front of Harry. "Don't!"

He hears a sharp sound behind him, as though Harry cuts off himself off a split second before saying something. He doesn't dare turn around to look, though. His heart is racing. He expects to be shot at any second. 

And yet he's not afraid.

This whole thing is about making him suffer. Everything that's happened so far was done with this one thing in mind. Charlie isn't going to kill him. Not here. Not yet. 

He hasn't suffered enough.

"Don't hurt him, okay?" Eggsy pleads. He doesn't move from his defensive stance in front of Harry. He just stands there, holding his hands up, showing that he's unarmed. "I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt him."

"Eggsy." Harry sounds appalled and disbelieving.

"I mean it," Eggsy says. He can't risk looking at Harry. He doesn't think he could bear it anyway, to see the disappointment in Harry's eyes. Instead he keeps his gaze on Charlie. "I'm done. I'm fucking done. Okay? Just…this has to stop."

Charlie doesn't move. The hand holding the gun doesn't waver. "Throw your weapons down. Kick them over here. Now." He glares at Eggsy, and his lip curls in that old sneer of contempt, the one Eggsy is far too familiar with. "And you. Move out of the fucking way."

Slowly Eggsy sidles to his right, still holding his hands up. He puts just enough space between him and Harry that now Charlie will have to actively adjust his aim if he wants to hit one of them. Then he carefully reaches for his gun.

He drops it to the floor just ahead of Harry, kicks it over toward Charlie. The temptation to look over at Harry is incredibly strong, but somehow he manages not to give in. He doesn't want to see the anger on Harry's face, and the terrible knowledge that once again Eggsy has betrayed him.

"Now the glasses," Charlie says. He pushes both guns well behind him with one foot. He's sort of smiling now. Like this is all some big joke to him.

Shit. Eggsy takes them off with a pang. He hadn't known Charlie was familiar with the Kingsman glasses, but it makes sense. Either Chester King told him or he figured it out on his own after seeing footage of all the agents wearing them. And even though Merlin can't help them now anyway, Eggsy still feels a pang to see them clatter to the floor.

"Now here's what going to happen," Charlie says. His smile widens; he's definitely enjoying himself. And why not? All his revenge fantasies are finally coming true.

"I'm going to hit you," Charlie says to Eggsy. "And I'm going to knock you out. And while you're sleeping so peacefully, I'm going to kill this old man. I'm going to cut his fucking head off and leave his body where it's the first thing you see when you wake up." He grins. "By then I'll be long gone. And then _you_ get to live with the sight for the rest of your life."

"You're fucking insane," Eggsy breathes. He can feel the tightly coiled tension in Harry beside him, but he doesn't look away from Charlie. He's sick to his stomach with horror and dread at finally hearing what Charlie has planned for him.

"Am I?" Charlie asks lightly. "Well if I am, it's your fault!" He punctuates the shout with a jabbing motion of his gun.

"I'm sorry," Eggsy says. It's way too late, but he has to at least try. "Okay? I really am." He knows there was no other way, it was either him or them, and he had to stop Valentine, had to save the world. But that doesn't mean he doesn't have regrets, that he wishes it could have gone down some other way, that he didn't have the blood of so many people on his hands and haunting his dreams.

"Oh, fuck off," Charlie snaps. "You're not sorry, you lying piece of shit." 

"We could have helped you if you had come to us," Harry says. He sounds calm and composed, the way he did on that fatal day in Kentucky, standing under the June sun and facing down a different madman. "You could have had a job with us." 

"Work for the people who killed my family?" Charlie sneers. "You're crazier than I am if you think I would ever do that."

"Richmond Valentine killed your family," Harry says. "Not Kingsman."

Eggsy holds his breath. For half a second he lets himself think they might actually be able to pull this off the easy way.

Then Harry says, "Or maybe you killed them. Maybe you were the one to convince them to accept Valentine's invitation."

The light goes out in Charlie's eyes. And Eggsy knows two things for certain then. 

The first is that Harry is right.

The second is that there's no way in hell they're talking their way out of this. This was never going to end in anything but bloodshed.

Charlie kicks one of the kitchen chairs away from the table. It skitters across the tile floor, toward where Eggsy stands. Four sets of handcuffs are attached to the chair's legs and arms like bizarre ornaments, the open shackles just waiting to restrain someone. "Sit down." He looks at Harry. "And you stay right there. Don't try anything or I'll fucking shoot him."

"I'm sorry," Eggsy says, miserable and contrite. "I'm so sorry."

Swift as lightning, Harry's furious response hits him in the chest harder than any fist ever could. "You should be."

Eggsy flinches. His shoulders hunched like he's in pain, he steps over the two pairs of glasses on the floor and sits in the chair. From here he could lunge at Charlie, but it would be awkward; there's just enough distance between them that Charlie would have time to twist away before Eggsy could get a grip on him. In the ensuing scuffle, Harry would use the opportunity to attack as well, but he's even farther away. Charlie would certainly have enough time to fire at him.

Eggsy sits.

"You know what to do," Charlie says.

He risks one agonising look back at Harry. He doesn't want to see Harry's betrayed anger, but he has no choice. He has to look.

It's worse than he thought. Harry doesn't look angry with him, but that's only because he's already dismissed Eggsy, cast him aside as a traitor, unhelpful and inconsequential. He is focused on ending Charlie and the threat he poses, and getting out of here alive. He barely even acknowledges Eggsy as he studies Charlie, deceptively calm, only the set of his jaw revealing his thwarted fury.

"Do it," Charlie orders.

Eggsy stares at him. This is his last chance and he knows it. "You don't have to do this," he says. Pleading. Begging.

"Shut the fuck up," Charlie snarls. "Just do it. Or I'll kill him right now."

Completely defeated, Eggsy lets himself slump in the chair. Slowly he leans down and reaches for the handcuff locked around the right chair leg. The movement exposes his left wrist and the pristine white cuff of his sleeve. 

And his watch.

It's the work of half a second to press the button and send the dart flying toward Charlie.

All bent over like he is, his aim is off, though. Instead of embedding itself in Charlie's leg, the dart skids off the seam of his jeans and bounces harmlessly along the kitchen floor.

Charlie's face twists in rage. "You—" It's all he has time for.

Eggsy throws himself forward. He stays low, a driving tackle aimed at taking Charlie out at the knees.

In the instant just before they collide, he hears the gun go off.

Terror wipes out his thoughts. He crashes into Charlie headfirst. Charlie staggers backward, still holding the gun, and Eggsy bears him down to the floor. He doesn't know if Harry's been shot, if Harry is even still alive, but there's no time to do anything about it right now.

Charlie fights back with astonishing strength, striking Eggsy in the face hard enough to make him see stars. He's been trained for situations like this. He knows hand-to-hand combat and all the moves to swiftly immobilize an opponent. He's sparred and wrestled at least twice a week with others ever since he was still hoping to be the next Lancelot.

But none of his training comes to his aid just then. He's terrified that Harry is shot, Harry is killed, Harry is lying dead on the floor with a bullet in his skull for real this time. All he knows is that he's got to end Charlie, _now_.

They wrestle with each other, graceless in their hatred. Charlie kicks at him, tries to bring the gun around. His handsome face is twisted in a grimace of effort and insane rage.

Eggsy grabs at Charlie's wrists. He digs in with his elbows, feels them sink into the softness of Charlie's stomach, hauls himself up on his knees.

Beneath him, Charlie bucks and rolls, and Eggsy goes helplessly with him. For half a second he finds himself staring down the barrel of the gun, then he wrenches himself to the side.

At close range, the shot is deafening. Hot pain lances down his arm. He yells, or thinks he does. He can't hear anything.

But he doesn't let go of Charlie's wrists.

They roll again, strugging to get the upper hand, the gun wavering drunkenly between them, one moment aimed at Charlie, the next at Eggsy. Charlie tries to knee him in the thigh and Eggsy looks for a chance to smash his forehead against Charlie's. They lurch upright to their knees, momentum carrying them forward, still locked together in a struggle for the gun. In desperation, Eggsy twists Charlie's wrists, uncaring if he breaks them both, just trying to get him to drop the gun.

This time the shot is muffled; he's too deaf to hear it properly. He recoils, but manages to hang on. Then he's sprawling forward, dragged down by the sudden burden of Charlie's weight.

It takes a moment to sink in. Charlie is not fighting him anymore. In fact, Charlie is not moving at all.

With an outcry he doesn't hear, he lets go of Charlie's wrists and shoves away from him. He stares down at Charlie, seeing the bloody wound on his chest, the dart embedded in his neck.

He rises unsteadily on his knees and turns around.

Harry stands there, the fake sling thrown aside, one hand poised over his watch, still ready to fire the second dart if necessary. There's a bullet embedded in his suit, right above the white linen square peeking out of his pocket. But he has eyes only for Eggsy.

Eggsy makes a miserable sound, a shout, maybe, or a whimper. He doesn't know. He staggers to his feet and somehow gets moving.

He doesn't have far to go. Harry is there, wrapping both arms around him, holding him tight.

Eggsy squeezes his eyes shut and clings to him.

He's never going to let go again.

****

"You might have told me your plan," Merlin says. His voice sounds tinny, the result of Eggsy's hearing slowly coming back online, but even so, it's obvious that he's irritated.

"We might have," Harry agrees. His glasses are new, plucked from the equipment cache in the back of the plane. They're not quite the same shade as his old ones. "Although I'm not sure what good it would have done."

"I really thought you were surrendering," Merlin says.

"That was the point, wasn't it?" Eggsy says. He shares a look with Harry.

Harry had balked at first when Eggsy explained his plan -- as Eggsy had known he would. Not, Harry had explained, because he thought it wouldn't work, but because he disliked the danger it spelled for Eggsy.

But Eggsy had been undeterred. He had known instinctively that the only way to defeat Charlie was to turn the tables on him, deceive Charlie as he had been so badly deceived when he thought Charlie wanted money to remain silent about what happened at the church.

"He hated me," he says now. "You was there, Merlin. You know it. So I had to keep his attention on me instead of Harry." He shrugs a little, then winces as the motion jars his hurt arm. "Figured he'd go for it. It was what he wanted, wasn't it?"

"Yes, well, it would have spared me from having a heart attack if I had known the plan," Merlin says. "Although I don't suppose either of you gave that any thought."

"None at all," Eggsy says cheerfully. Despite the subject of their conversation, he's still on something of an adrenaline high. He can be sorry over how it all went down but also be relieved that they won and they're both still alive. 

He does feel kind of bad for Merlin, though, having to witness all that from where their glasses had been dropped on the floor.

"Just get back here," Merlin says. As though they aren't already en route.

There's a faint click, and the communication is ended.

Eggsy takes his glasses off and sits back in his seat. His arm hurts where Charlie shot him, but it could be a lot worse. At such close range, the bulletproof suit saved him from an actual entry wound, but the impact area still hurts like hell. He'll be bruised for weeks, with a limited range of motion for who knows how long. 

Compared to what it could have been, though, he'll take the pain, and gladly.

Across from him, Harry loads a fresh dart into his watch, replacing the one he used. He would have fired sooner, he had told Eggsy, but he had to wait until he was certain he wouldn't hit Eggsy by mistake. As it was, the amnesia dart had been unnecessary; by the time Harry was able to get off a clean shot, Charlie was already dead.

"I didn't mean for it, you know," Eggsy says. Everything that's happened since the fight with Charlie, the return to the safe house, the call to Kingsman that set their extraction in motion, their departure on the Kingsman jet, all of it feels like it happened to someone else. He was still half-deaf for most of it, a little bit shaky on his feet.

And it all happened so fast. Incredibly enough it's still afternoon, still bright and sunny in the Bahamas as the plane leaves the islands behind. It isn't until just now that he feels like he's truly settling. Like the world isn't still spinning all around him.

"I know," Harry says. He rearranges his shirt cuff over the Bremont strapped to his wrist and looks up at Eggsy. "It was an accident, but ultimately a fortunate one."

"Yeah." Charlie had been trying to kill him. There's no getting around that.

He looks away. He doesn't want to think about it. The feverish heat of Charlie's wrists, his entire body seized with madness. The grisly way Charlie intended to kill Harry in order to extract his revenge on Eggsy for the murder of his family. The anger and disappointment on Harry's face when Eggsy seemed to betray them both with his abject surrender.

That's the funny thing about deceptions. There has to be some core of truth to them, or they won't work. Playing a role in a charade is only possible if you put something of yourself in it. He couldn't have pretended to give in so thoroughly to Charlie if he hadn't already done just that. And Harry couldn't have faked his betrayed anger if he didn't already know what it felt like.

How long is it gonna take, he wonders, before those things truly fade away?

"How's your arm?" Harry asks.

"Okay," Eggsy says without looking up. Although they had been pressed for time, Harry had insisted on looking it over before they got on the plane. Even though Eggsy's hearing had still sucked at that point, there had been no mistaking the relief in Harry's voice when he discovered that there was no actual wound. "How about you?"

"I'm fine," Harry says. He'll be bruised too, but nowhere near as badly as Eggsy. In a couple days at most, the mark will be gone completely, with nothing to remind them that here was another time he narrowly escaped death. Still, Eggsy knows he won't soon forget his bright terror when he thought Charlie had killed Harry.

Somewhere far below them is the ocean. Ahead lies London, and home. They really will get to sleep in their own bed tonight.

Harry unbuckles his seat belt and stands up. He moves into the aisle and opens one of the overhead bins that's cleverly disguised to look like wood paneling. He pulls out a tartan blanket and hands it to Eggsy.

Eggsy takes it, although he's pretty sure he isn't going to get any sleep right now.

He expects Harry to return to his seat across the aisle. There's nowhere else for him to go, really, unless he wants to use the couch. Instead, he gestures at Eggsy's seat. "May I?"

The leather seats are spacious, but they definitely aren't big enough to accommodate two fully grown men. Nonetheless, Eggsy nods and scoots over as much as he can.

Harry sits beside him, somehow managing to fold himself into the narrow space available. He slips an arm around Eggsy's shoulders. Without hesitation, Eggsy leans in, turning sideways to get more comfortable. All the jostling around hurts his arm, and Harry's got to be feeling pretty shitty too, all bruised and banged up from that car accident, but he never shows it.

He half-expects some kind of confession from Harry, something about being afraid to lose him. Or maybe a declaration of love.

But Harry doesn't speak. He just takes the blanket from Eggsy and drapes it over them both.

Eggsy closes his eyes. He thinks maybe he'll sleep after all.


	11. This Much is True

Harry is nearly done removing the breakfast dishes when the front door opens in a blast of winter wind. "Fuck, it's cold!" Eggsy yelps as he hurries to shut the door. He bends down to unclip JB's leash, then gives an exaggerated shiver.

Unconcerned about the weather, JB scampers toward the kitchen and his water bowl, in such a rush that his hindquarters slide on the floor. Harry watches him drink for a second, then looks up as Eggsy approaches. "Is it snowing yet?"

"No, but it's gonna," Eggsy says direly. He undoes his coat and drapes it over the bannister. Harry notes this with an inward sigh, but refrains from saying anything about it. 

"Well, the weather report did say so," he says. He's not really bothered by the thought of having to walk to Savile Row in the cold and snow.

"I'm telling ya," Eggsy says, "we oughta work from the Bahamas. We don't need to actually be here. Everything's digital these days anyway." He strolls toward the dining room, cheeks and nose flushed with cold. The winter wind has messed with his hair, ruining the careful styling he spent so much time on earlier this morning.

Seeing that makes Harry want to mess it up even further. Preferably by taking him back upstairs to bed.

But some things must wait. So instead he just says, "I'm afraid not. The Caribbean falls under Statesman's domain. They wouldn't be very happy if we decided to move in on their territory."

Eggsy groans. "Knew you was gonna say that."

Harry gives him a commiserating smile, then heads for the kitchen, his arms full of dirty dishes. He's not limping anymore and his scraped palms are healing nicely, although he'll be nursing sore ribs for weeks to come yet.

He starts rinsing the dishes, placing them methodically in the dishwasher. He can remember a time when he rarely bothered to run it, when it was just him alone in this house and it took a week or more to load up the dishwasher enough to even consider running it. He simply did the dishes by hand then, taking his time at the sink and doing the chore right, as he does most everything in his life.

Then Eggsy came along, and like almost all of his old routines, it fell unmourned by the wayside. Now there are two of them living here, two sets of dishes, more genuine meals being cooked and eaten in his cosy kitchen. Now he fills up the dishwasher in mere days, and its quiet hum in the evening has become a new routine, one that satisfies him far more than he would ever have thought possible.

Eggsy strolls up and leans against the doorframe, watching as Harry finishes up. He reaches for his hair, pushing the fallen locks back in place with his fingertips. It's only been two days since he was shot but he's using his arm freely, although he's still bruised and sore where the bullet struck him. 

Harry closes the dishwasher, washes his hands, then drapes the damp dishtowel over the oven door handle where it belongs. "While you were taking JB out, Merlin made contact." 

"Yeah?" Eggsy straightens up.

It hadn't been a long conversation, and in fact Harry wonders why Merlin bothered with it at all, instead of waiting for them to arrive at HQ today. He starts to walk out of the kitchen, and without a word Eggsy turns and moves into the dining room, giving him room.

"The cleaning crew has finished going through Charlie Hesketh's possessions. They found four other USB drives, but none of them contained the video footage we were looking for."

They brought the ruined laptop with them on the plane, including the destroyed flash drive that was now melted and fused to the computer itself, thanks to Harry's destructive gunshot. The laptop's final, frozen screen had showed a You Tube account with the video from South Glade Mission Church already uploaded. The description had read, "British Spy Massacres Dozens On V-Day."

It still gives Harry chills to recall that fateful image, that uploaded video merely awaiting a single click of the mouse to make it go live for all the world to see. It's long-since deleted, of course, along with the You Tube account associated with it. Nonetheless, he knows he will be forever haunted by the knowledge of how close he came to having his entire life ripped apart as fuel for a sick young man's need for revenge.

"So that one was really it then," Eggsy says. He stands beside the chair at the far end of the dining room table, his gaze on the gleaming wood of the table itself. "The one you shot."

"So it would seem," Harry says. He's proud of how steady his voice is.

Neither of them have slept very well since their return. It's been two days and three nights of odd tension mixed with moments like on the Kingsman jet, when he impulsively asked if he could join Eggsy in that seat. Except for their debrief with Arthur and Merlin, they have not been to HQ; today is their first day back.

Eggsy has spent much of that time doting on JB, making up for his absence by taking the dog for long walks and spoiling him silly. Harry has dusted the entire house and read the same four pages in his current book at least a dozen times -- and retained absolutely none of it.

It's plain that they need to talk about what happened, but apparently neither of them knows how to start.

 _I don't want your fucking apologies. I want_ answers.

That was what he had said when it all began. When he felt like he was drowning in the thick waters of anger and betrayal and mistrust. When he thought he had already lost Eggsy and he hadn't even realised it.

So much has happened since then, though. He can be ashamed over his behaviour that night and in the days that followed, when he wasn't sure he could still trust Eggsy, when he didn't even know if they still had any kind of a future together.

He knows now that he was a fool. Eggsy's actions, misguided though they were, proved beyond all doubt how much he loves Harry. Clearly as far as Eggsy is concerned, there is no reason not to love him. Not his age, not what he did to Lee, not what he did in the church, not his impulsive tendency to reckless anger. At some point Eggsy must have weighed those things and decided they simply didn't matter.

Which makes him far wiser than Harry.

Far braver, too. Eggsy at least had the courage to act on his convictions. It's time for Harry to repay that courage in kind.

"Why don't we have a seat?" he says. He gestures toward the living room.

Eggsy grows pale. Reflexively his jaw tightens and his shoulders come up a little, the reaction of someone who's been hunted far too often in such a young life. But he doesn't protest. He just nods weakly and heads for the couch.

They sit, near each other but not touching. That distance has been between them since their return from the Bahamas, subtle, but constantly present.

"Merlin had one other thing to say," he says. "Arthur has not yet decided if we should be allowed out in the field together again. He wanted to warn us, so she could be left in peace to make her decision."

Eggsy's eyes widen a little in dismay. "I guess she didn't expect us to do such a good acting job, did she?"

"Of course she did," Harry says briskly. "We are Kingsman agents. She would expect nothing less."

No, their ability to pull off their deception was never in doubt -- although Arthur might have questioned the plan itself, had she known about it ahead of time. And rightfully so. For the real question, the real concern, is whether it was a deception at all.

They had made their case during the debrief at HQ, answered all the questions, provided all the answers. Officially there is nothing left to say on the matter. But sitting here with Eggsy in the house where they have lived and loved for months now, Harry finds that there are still some things which must be said.

Eggsy beats him to it, though. Clever as always, he says, not without some bitterness, "I get it. She wonders if I'd do it for real, just roll over like that."

"Yes," Harry says. There is no reason to sugarcoat it, after all. Not when Eggsy already realises the truth.

Eggsy's jaw tightens. He glares at the armchair across from them, but does not speak.

It's his turn now, but first Harry takes a moment to order his thoughts. He's never been much for introspection. He is who he is, and no amount of brooding over the causes will change that. But for Eggsy, he is willing to at least try.

"Eggsy," he starts, "when I first learned that you had stolen from me and I saw that video, I was very angry. I felt betrayed, and I questioned whether I would ever be able to trust you again."

Beside him, Eggsy seems to shrink into himself. The space between them, though it physically grows no larger, now suddenly seems enormous, as though an entire ocean could fit there.

"But I came to understand why you did it. And when we were facing Charlie, I felt nothing but pride and respect. It was your plan that we followed -- and it was a good one. Because he had already tricked you with such deceit, I had no doubt that a similar tactic would work on Charlie. I had every confidence that we would succeed."

Some of the weight bowing Eggsy's shoulders seems to lift. He looks up a little, although not yet at Harry.

"I don't know what Arthur will decide. Nor do I care. I only know that I would be proud to follow you into the field again. I trust you with my life." He pauses only long enough to make sure Eggsy understands the importance of his final words. "And with my heart."

Now Eggsy does look at him. His eyes are wide again, clear green this morning, as beautiful as the rest of him. "So you don't…" He can't finish.

There are too many answers to the unasked questions. Still, Harry tries.

"My anger at you that day was all part of the plan," he says. "Not a bit of it was real."

There is a larger question here, though, one he isn't sure how to answer. Before Eggsy, he would have honestly said that on any given day, his first duty was to see his mission through, and then to Kingsman itself. But the last few weeks have been ones of great emotional upheaval, and the dust hasn't yet finished settling. Harry can't say with any certainty that he still believes this to be true.

Because there is Eggsy now to consider. He understands completely how Eggsy could have stolen that money from him, how Eggsy could have made the difficult decision to lie to him in an effort to protect him. He understands it more than he would like -- because he feels exactly the same.

He has no doubt that Eggsy can take care of himself, but there is still a part of Harry who would unhesitatingly throw himself in front of Eggsy if the situation called for it. Protect him from a bullet, a car, an insane young man hell-bent on revenge. It's not because he believes Eggsy is weak or in need of protection. It's because he loves Eggsy more than he ever thought he could love someone. 

Exactly the way Eggsy loves him.

Should Arthur ask him, he will have to find a way to answer her that satisfies them both. But right here and now, with only Eggsy sitting beside him, he is done with lying. He has seen what damage can be done when the truth is withheld, and he is tired of it.

He is never again going to let that happen to them.

"And should we ever find ourselves in a situation where surrender is genuinely required, I will not say now how I should respond." He gives Eggsy a hopeful smile. "I will only say that you are more dear to me than life itself."

Alarm darkens Eggsy's expression as he realises what Harry means by this. "No!" he exclaims. "No, don't, you can't—" He shakes his head. "You can't."

"Hopefully we shall never need to find out," Harry replies. He leans in slightly. Another expression of hope.

"Oh fuck," Eggsy moans, and he closes the space between them, throwing both arms tight around Harry.

Harry holds him back with equal ferocity. He ignores the ache in his ribs, the ticking of the clock, the knowledge that Arthur and Kingsman are waiting for their arrival. There is only Eggsy and this moment.

"When you stepped in front of me," he says quietly, "I thought Charlie would shoot you. I've seen and done a great many things in my life, but I have never been so frightened as I was then."

"I couldn't let him do it," Eggsy says. His voice is muffled; his face is buried in Harry's neck. "I couldn't."

"I know, dearest," Harry says. "I know."

And he also knows this: Eggsy's love for him, his love for Eggsy, doesn't make him helpless. It never did. That kind of love can only make a person stronger.

They're going to be all right. Not perfect, no, because such a thing doesn't exist. But they will be all right. They will talk about South Glade Mission Church and V-Day, and they will yell and say things they regret and apologise and hold each other close. They will row and nag at each other and get on each other's nerves. They will kiss and fuck and at some point go out and buy new bedroom furniture together. They will make messes in the kitchen and spill food on the couch and break something old and expensive. They will smile at each other and laugh at their own silly jokes and hold each other close at night.

They will be happy.

********

Epilogue

 

Eggsy wakes up and knows instantly that he is alone. Without opening his eyes, he reaches out anyway, just to be sure. And yes, Harry's side of the bed is empty. The sheets are cold, too; he's been gone for a while.

He groans softly. For weeks now things have been getting better. He's seen it day by day, the church losing its stranglehold on Harry, slowly releasing him. There haven't been any nightmares for several days in a row now.

So why tonight, damnit?

He scrubs at his face and climbs out of bed. It's nearly one o'clock; outside a chill rain is falling, but in here it's as warm as ever. Still he pauses to slip into his dressing gown and slippers, sparing only a moment for wry amusement at how domesticated he's become.

He fully expects to find Harry in the office, standing there staring up at the _Sun_ headlines again, the old affirmation of life and survival. But the light in the office is off, and Harry is nowhere in sight.

Wondering if he should be concerned, Eggsy heads downstairs. He can see light now; it must be the one in the kitchen, casting a dim glow over the whole downstairs. 

Harry is at the dining room table, a white shirt spread on the table before him, needle and thread in hand. He's in his red dressing gown, and with his hair in loose curls, he looks as soft as he ever gets. When he sees Eggsy, he glances up and smiles. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"What're you doing?" Eggsy asks.

Harry gestures to the shirt. "I wanted to try out those new button cameras Merlin gave us."

Eggsy blinks. "Now?"

"And why not?" Harry replies calmly. He makes a stitch, pointedly not looking at Eggsy.

"Because we're supposed to be leavin' for Vienna in a few hours," Eggsy says. "Cause it's the middle of the fucking night." He hesitates, not wanting to ask what woke Harry in the first place and why he came down here.

"It's our first mission together since the Bahamas," Harry says calmly. He makes another stitch. "All eyes will be upon us."

Eggsy nods. He's heard this before, not just from Harry, but from Merlin too. Even Roxy has chimed in, telling him that she knows they'll do great, but please, don't fuck it up.

"I know," he says. "So we gotta do everything just right." Or they'll never be allowed out together again. Or this will be it, their last mission together.

"These new cameras have a much longer range than the old ones," Harry says. "And the images they return are much crisper, allowing for greater detail."

"Yeah, I know," Eggsy says. He pulls out the chair next to Harry's and sits down. "I was at the briefing too, remember?"

Harry sets the shirt aside with a frown. "I only want—"

"I know," Eggsy says, cutting him off. "Me too. But we got this, you know?"

Harry gazes at him for a long moment. Then at last he relaxes somewhat. He even smiles a little. "Yes. I know we do."

"Then come on," Eggsy says. "We can do this tomorrow on the plane." He stands up.

He thinks Harry might refuse, might give him that old lecture about not leaving a job half-finished, about duty and all that stuff. And he can see it's on the tip of Harry's tongue to do just that. But after another moment of hesitation, Harry pushes his chair back and stands up. "All right," he says.

Satisfied, Eggsy nods. He waits by the end of the table while Harry shuts off the light in the kitchen. Darkness encloses the room, turning Harry into a shadowy figure that Eggsy feels rather than sees.

"Come on," Eggsy says. He stands where he is, though, until Harry joins him. And when Harry's arm slips around him, he leans in.

He'll probably never completely forgive himself for what happened with Charlie, for the lies and deceptions that almost came between them for good. He can't regret any of it, though, not when the result is this, Harry beside him.

Not when he's the happiest he's ever been.

"You owe me another good-night kiss for this," he says as they climb the stairs.

"Do I?" Harry sounds somewhat amused.

"Yeah," Eggsy says. "I think so." All his earlier worries have vanished now that he knows Harry wasn't up because of a nightmare about the church, or anything sinister like that. They're both a bit anxious about the Vienna mission that begins tomorrow, but that's okay. Worrying about a mission they share is a luxury he wasn't sure he would ever get to experience again. Given the alternatives, he'll gladly take the anxiety and count himself fortunate.

"Well," Harry says, "I suppose I shall just have to get on with it then."

"Yeah, you better," Eggsy says.

They reach the top of the stairs, and Harry stops. He turns toward Eggsy and kisses him, light and sweet. "Good night, dearest."

He'll never get tired of hearing Harry call him that. The way he'll never be tired of moments like this. "Like I'm letting you get away with just that," he says. He starts for their bedroom.

"Whatever happened to 'it's the middle of the fucking night'," Harry murmurs.

Eggsy shrugs. "We're Kingsman agents," he says. "We're supposed to be able to handle sudden changes to the plan."

"You're right," Harry says, and Eggsy suddenly finds himself spun about and pressed up against the wall. Harry uses his greater height to advantage, leaning in until he's close enough to kiss, his breath warm on Eggsy's ear. "Except I don't recall having a plan for tonight."

In answer, Eggsy pushes off the wall as much as he can, grabs the back of the collar of Harry's dressing gown, and pulls hard. "I guess we better make it up as we go, then."

Harry hums in agreement. Despite the pull on his neck, he remains close. "I see." He presses the softest kiss on Eggsy's earlobe. Then another one just below that. "What did you have in mind?"

Eggsy shivers in delight. "I don't know," he says. He lets go of Harry's collar and pulls him in close. "But I bet we can figure it out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading, and who took the time to leave kudos or a comment. I appreciate it more than you can know. <3


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